Darby O'Gill and the good people

Darby O'Gill and
r/^e Good People

Henninie1^mi!lebiiKavan£^

OF THE

UNIVERSITY

OF

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in 2007 with funding from

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DARBY O'GILL AND THE
GOOD PEOPLE

Darby O'GiU

and the Good People

By

Herminie Templeton Kavanagh

Frontispiece by
John R. Neill

Chicago

The Reilly & Britton Co,

1915

Copyright, 1903

By

McClure, Phillips & Co.

GIFT

FOREWORD

A HIS history sets forth the only true account of the
adventures of a daring Tipperary man named Darby
O'Gill among the Fairies of Sleive-na-mon.

These adventures were first related to me by Mr.
Jerry Murtaugh, a reliable car-driver, who goes be-
tween Kilcuny and Ballinderg. He is a first cousin
of Darby O'Gill's own mother.

CONTENTS

PAGE

Darby O'Gill and the Good People . . .« 1

Darby O'Gill and the Leprechaun .... 29

The Convarsion of Father Cassidy .... 61

How the Fairies Came to Ireland .... 89

The Adventures of King Brian Connors . .111

Chap. I. The King and the Omadhaun . 113

Chap. II. The Couple without Childher . 137

Chap. III. The Luck of the Mulligans . .156

The Banshee's Comb 175

Chap. I. The Diplomacy of Bridget . . 177

Chap. II. The Banshee^ Halloween . . 203

Chap. III. The Ghosts at Chartre's Mill . 240

Chap. IV. The Costa Bower 265

Darby O'Gill and the Good People

THE FAIRIES

** Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen.
We daren't go a-hunting
For fear of little men.
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping altogether;
Green jacket, red cap.
And white owVs feather.

They stole little Bridget

For seven years long;

When she came down agai/n

Her friends were all gone.

They took her lightly hack

Between the day and morrow;

They thought that she was fast asleep.

But she was dead with sorrow.**

William Allingham.

Darby O'Gill and the Good People

Although only one living man of his own free
will ever went among them there, still, any well-
learned person in Ireland can tell you that the abode
of the Good People is in the hollow heart of the great
mountain, Sleive-na-mon. That same one man was
Darby O'Gill, a cousin of my own mother.

Right and left, generation after generation, the
fairies had stolen pigs, young childher, old women,
young men, cows, churnings of butter from other peo-
ple, but had never bothered any of our kith or kin
until, for some mysterious ray son, they soured on
Darby, and took the eldest of his three foine pigs.

The next week a second pig went the same way.
The third week not a thing had Darby left for the
Balinrobe fair. You may aisly think how sore and
sorry the poor man was, an' how Bridget, his wife,
an' the childher carried on. The rent was due, and all
left was to sell his cow Rosie to pay it. Rosie was the

[3]

DARBY O GILL AND THE GOOD PEOPLE

apple of his eye ; he admired and rayspected the pigs,
but he loved Rosie.

Worst luck of all was yet to come. On the morn-
ing when Darby went for the cow to bring her into
market, bad scrans to the hoof was there; but in her
place only a wisp of dirty straw to mock him. Millia
murther ! What a howlin' and scrcechin' and cursin'
did Darby bring back to the house !

Now Darby was a bould man, and a desperate man
in his anger as you soon will see. He shoved his feet
into a pair of brogues, clapped his hat on his head*
and gripped his stick in his hand.

" Fairy or no fairy, ghost or goblin, livin' or dead,
who took Rosie'll rue the day," he says.

With those wild words he boulted in the direction
of Sleive-na-mon.

All day long he climbed like an ant over the hill,
looking for hole or cave through which he could get
at the prison of Rosie. At times he struck the rocks
with his black-thorn, cryin' out challenge.

" Come out, you that took her," he called. " If ye
have the courage of a mouse, ye murtherin' thieves,
come out ! "

No one made answer — at laste, not just then. But
[4]

DARBY OGII.L AND THE GOOD PEOPLE

at night, as he turned, hungry and footsore, toward
home, who should he meet up with on the cross-roads
but the ould fair^^ doctor, Sheelah Maguire; well
known was she as a spy for the Good People. She
spoke up:

" Oh, then, you're the foolish, blundherin'-headed
man to be saying what you've said, and doing what
you've done this day. Darby O'Gill," says she.

" What do I care! " says he, fiercely. " I'd fight
the divil for my beautiful cow."

" Then go into Mrs. Hagan's meadow beyant," says
Sheelah, " and wait till the moon is up. By an' by
ye'U see a herd of cows come down from the moun-
tain, and yer own'll be among them."

"What I'll I do then?" asked Darby, his voice
thrembling with excitement.

" Sorra a hair I care what ye do ! But there'll be
lads there, and hundreds you won't see, that'll stand
no ill words. Darby O'Gill."

" One question more, ma'am," says Darby, as Shee-
lah was moving away. " How late in the night will
they stay without? "

Sheelah caught him by the collar and, pulling his
head close, whuspered:

[«]

DARBY O G I L, L AND THE GOOD PEOPLE

" When the cock crows the Good People must be
safe at home. After cock-crow they have no power to
help or to hurt, and every mortal eye can see them
plain."

" I thank you kindly," says Darby, " and I bid
you good evening, ma'am." He turned away, leaving
her standing there alone looking after him; but he
was sure he heard voices talkin' to her and laughin'
and tittherin' behind him.

It was dark night when Darby stretched himself
on the ground in Hagan's meadow ; the j^ellow rim of
the moon just tipped the edge of the hills.

As he lay there in the long grass amidst the silence
there came a cowld shudder in the air, an' afther it
had passed the deep cracked voice of a near-by bull-
frog called loudly an' ballyraggin' :

" The Omadhaun ! Omadhaun ! Omadhaun ! " it
said.

From a sloe three over near the hedge an owl cried,
surprised and thrembling:

" Who-o-o? who-o-o.? " it axed.

At that every frog in the meadow — an' there must
have been tin thousand of them — took up the answer,
an' shrieked shrill an' high together. " Darby O'Gill !
Darby O'Gill! Darby O'Gill! " sang they.

[6]

DARBY O GILL AND THE GOOD PEOPLE

"The Omadhaun! The Omadhaun!" cried the
wheezj masther frog again. " Who-o? Who-o? "
axed the owl. "Darby O'Gill! Darby O'GiU!"
screamed the rollicking chorus; an' that way they
were goin' over an' over agin until the bould man was
just about to creep oiF to another spot whin, sudden,
a hundred slow shadows, stirring up the mists, crept
from the mountain way toward him. First he must
find was Rosie among the herd. To creep quiet as a
cat through the hedge and raich the first cow was only
a minute's work. Then his plan, to wait till cock-
crow, with all other sober, sensible thoughts, went
clane out of the lad's head before his rage ; for crop-
ping eagerly the long, sweet grass, the first baste he
met, was Rosie.

With a leap Darby was behind her, his stick fall-
ing sharply on her flanks. The ingratichude of that
cow almost broke Darby's heart. Rosie turned fierce-
ly on him with a vicious lunge, her two horns aimed
at his breast. There was no suppler boy in the parish
than Darby, and well for him it was so, for the mad
rush the cow gave would have caught any man the
laste trifle heavy on his legs and ended his days right
there.

[7]

As it was, our hayro sprang to one side. As Rosie
passed his left hand gripped her tail. When one of
the O'Gills takes hould of a thing he hangs on Hke a
bull-terrier. Away he went, rushing with her.

Now began a race the like of which was never heard
of before or since. Ten jumps to the second and a
hundred feet to the jump. Rosie's tail standing
straight up in the air, firm as an iron bar, and Darby
floating straight out behind ; a thousand furious fair-
ies flying a short distance after, filling the air with
wild commands and threatenings.

Suddenly the sky opened for a crash of lightning
that shivered the hills, and a roar of thunder that
turned out of their beds every man, woman, and child
in four counties. Flash after flash came the light-
ning, hitting on every side of our hayro. If it wasn't
for fear of hurting Rosie the fairies would certainly
have killed Darby. As it was, he was stiff with fear,
afraid to hould on and afraid to lave go, but flew,
waving in the air at Rosie's tail like a flag.

As the cow turned into the long, narrow valley
which cuts into the east side of the mountain the Good
People caught up with the pair, and what they didn't
do to Darby in the line of sticking pins, pulling

[8]

darbyo'gill and the good people

whiskers, and pinching wouldn't take long to tell. In
troth, he was just about to let go his hould and take
the chances of a fall when the hillside opened and —
whisk! the cow turned into the mountain. Darby
found himself flying down a wide, high passage which
grew lighter as he went along. He heard the opening
behind shut like a trap, and his heart almost stopped
beating, for this was the fairies' home in the heart of
Sleive-na-mon. He was captured by them !

When Rosie stopped, so stiff were all Darby's joints
that he had great trouble loosening himself to come
down. He landed among a lot of angry-faced little
people, each no higher than your hand, every one
wearing a green velvet cloak and a red cap, and in
every cap was stuck a white owl's feather.

" We'll take him to the King," says a red-whusk-
ered wee chap. " What he'll do to the murtherin'
spalpeen'll be good and plenty ! "

With that they marched our bould Darby, a pris-
oner, down the long passage, which every second grew
wider and lighter and fuller of little people.

Sometimes, though, he met with human beings like
himself, only the black charm was on them, they hav-
ing been stolen at some time by the Good People. He

[9]

DABBY O GILL AND THE GOOD PEOPLE

saw lost people there from every parish in Ireland,
both commoners and gentry. Each was laughing,
talking, and divarting liimself with another. Off to
the sides he could see small cobblers making brogues,
tinkers mending pans, tailors sewing cloth, smiths
hammering horse-shoes, every one merrily to his
trade, making a divarsion out of work.

To this day Darby can't tell where the beautiful
red Hght he now saw came from. It was like a soft
glow, only it filled the place, making things brighter
than day.

Down near the centre of the mountain was a room
twenty times higher and broader than the biggest
church in the worruld. As they drew near this room
there arose the sound of a reel played on bagpipes.
The music was so bewitching that Darby, who was
the gracef uUest reel-dancer in all Ireland, could hard-
ly make his feet behave themselves.

At the room's edge Darby stopped short and
caught his breath, the sight was so entrancing. Set
over the broad floor were thousands and thousands of
the Good People, facing this way and that, dancing
to a reel ; while on a throne in the middle of the room
sat ould Brian Connors, King of the Fairies, blowing
[10]

on the bagpipes. The little King, with a goold
crown on his head, wearing a beautiful green velvet
coat and red knee-breeches, sat with his legs crossed,
beating time with his foot to the music.

There were many from Darby's own parish; and
what was his surprise to see there Maureen McGibney,
his own wife's sister, whom he had supposed resting
dacintly in her own grave in holy ground these three
years. She had flowers in her brown hair, a fine colour
in her cheeks, a gown of white silk and goold, and her
green mantle raiched to the heels of her purty red
slippers.

There she was gliding back an' forth, ferninst a
little gray-whuskered, round-stomached fairy man, as
though there was never a care nor a sorrow in the
worruld.

As I tould you before, I tell you again. Darby was
the finest reel-dancer in all Ireland ; and he came from
a family of dancers, though I say it who shouldn't, as
he was my mother's own cousin. Three things in the
worruld banish sorrow — love and whisky and music.
So, when the surprise of it all melted a little. Darby's
feet led him in to the thick of the throng, right under
the throne of the King, where he flung care to the

[11]

DARBY O GILL AND THE GOOD PEOPLE

winds and put his heart and mind into his two nimble
feet. Darby's dancing was such that purty soon
those around stood still to admire.

There's a saying come down in our family through
generations which I still hould to be true, that the
better the music the aisier the step. Sure never did
mortal men dance to so fine a chune and never so sup-
ple a dancer did such a chune meet up with.

Fair and graceful he began. Backward and for-
ward, side-step and turn ; cross over, thin forward ; a
hand on his hip and his stick twirling free ; side-step
and forward ; cross over agin ; bow to his partner, and
hammer the floor.

It wasn't long till half the dancers crowded around
admiring, clapping their hands, and shouting encour-
agement. The ould King grew so excited that he laid
down the pipes, took up his fiddle, came down from
the throne, and, standing ferninst Darby, began a
finer chune than the first.

The dancing lasted a whole hour, no one speaking
a word except to cry out, " Foot it, ye divil ! " " Aisy
now, he's threading on flowers ! " " Hooroo ! hooroo !
hooray ! " Then the King stopped and said :

" Well, that bates Banagher, and Banagher bates
[12]

DARBY O GILL ANDTHE GOOD PEOPLE

the worruld! Who are you and how came you
here?"

Then Darby up and tould the whole story.

When he had finished, the King looked sayrious.
" I'm glad you came, an' I'm sorry you came," he
says. " If we had put our charm on you outside to
bring you in you'd never die till the ind of the worruld,
when we here must all go to hell. But," he added,
quickly, " there's no use in worrying about that now.
That's nayther here nor there ! Those willing to come
with us can't come at all, at all ; and here you are of
your own free act and will. Howsomever, you're here,
and we darn't let you go outside to tell others of what
you have seen, and so give us a bad name about —
about taking things, you know. We'll make you as
comfortable as we can ; and so you won't worry about
Bridget and the childher, I'll have a goold sovereign
left with them every day of their lives. But I wish
we had comeither on you," he says, with a sigh, " for
it's aisy to see you're great company. Now, come up
to my place and have a noggin of punch for friend-
ship's sake," says he.

That's how Darb}^ O'Gill began his six months' stay
with the Good People. Not a thing was left undone
[IS]

DAEBY O GILL AND THE GOOD PEOPLE

to make Darby contented and happy. A civiller peo-
ple than the Good People he never met. At first he
couldn't get over saying, " God save all here " and
" God save you kindly," and things like that, which
was like burning them with a hot iron.

If it weren't for Maureen McGibney, Darby would
be in Sleive-na-mon at this hour. Sure she was always
the wise girl, ready with her crafty plans and warn-
ings. On a day when they two were sitting alone to-
gether she says to him:

" Darby, dear," says she, " it isn't right for a da-
cint man of family to be spending his days cavortin'
and idlin' and fillin' the hours with sport and non-
sense. We must get you out of here; for what is a
sovereign a day to compare with the care and protec-
tion of a father? " she sa^^s.

" Thrue for ye ! " moaned Darby, " and my heart
is just splittin' for a sight of Bridget an' the childher.
Bad luck to the day I set so much store on a dirty,
ongratef ul, treacherous cow ! "

" I know well how you feel," says Maureen, " for

I'd give the world to say three words to Bob Broder-

ick, that ye tell me that out of grief for me he has

never kept company with any other girl till this day.

[14]

DARBY O Gil. L AND THE GOOD PEOPLE

But that'll never be," she says, " because I must stop
here till the Day of Judgment, then I must go to

," says she, beginning to cry, " but if you get

out, you'll bear a message to Bob for me, maybe? "
she says.

" It's aisy to talk about going out, but how can it
be done? " asked Darby.

" There's a way," says Maureen, wiping her big,
gray eyes, " but it may take years. First, you must
know that the Good People can never put their charm
on anyone who is willing to come with them. That's
whay you came safe. Then, agin, they can't work
harm in the daylight, and after cock-crow any mortal
eye can see them plain; nor can they harm anyone
who has a sprig of holly, nor pass over a leaf or twig
of holly, because that's Christmas bloom. Well,
there's a certain evil word for a charm that opens the
side of the mountain, and I will try to find it out for
you. Without that word all the armies in the worruld
couldn't get out or in. But you must be patient and
wise and wait."

" I will so, with the help of God," says Darby.

At these words Maureen gave a terrible screech.

" Cruel man ! " she cried, " don't you know that to
[15]

DARBY O ' G I li li AND THE GOOD PEOPLE

say pious words to one of the Good People, or to one
undher their black charm, is like cutting him with a
knife?"

The next night she came to Darby again.

" Watch yerself now," she says, " for to-night
they're goin' to lave the door of the mountain open
to thry you ; and if you stir two steps outside they'll
put the comeither on you," she says.

Sure enough, when Darby took his walk down the
passage after supper, as he did every night, there the
side of the mountain lay wide open and no one in
sight. The temptation to make one rush was great;
but he only looked out a minute, and went whustling
down the passage, knowing well that a hundred hid-
den eyes were on him the while. For a dozen nights
after it was the same.

At another time Maureen said:

" The King himself is going to thry you hard the
day, so beware ! " She had no sooner said the words
than Darby was called for, and went up to the
King.

" Darby, my sowl," says the King, in a sootherin'
way, " have this noggin of punch. A betther never
was brewed; it's the last we'll have for many a day.
[16]

DARBY O GILL AND THE GOOD PEOPLE

I'm going to set you free, Darby O'Gill, that's what
I am."

" Why, King," says Darby, putting on a mournful
face, " how have I offended ye? "

" No offence at all," says the King, " only we're
depriving you."

" No depravity in life ! " says Darby. " I have
lashins and lavings to ate and to drink and nothing
but fun an' divarsion all day long. Out in the
worruld it was nothing but work and throuble and
sickness, disappointment and care."

" But Bridget and the childher ? " says the King,
giving him a sharp look out of half -shut eyes.

" Oh, as for that. King," says Darby, " it's aisier
for a widow to get a husband or for orphans to find a
father than it is for them to pick up a sovereign a
day."

The King looked mighty satisfied and smoked for
a while without a word.

" Would you mind goin' out an evenin' now and
then, helpin' the boys to mind the cows.? " he asked at
last.

Darby feared to trust himself outside in their com-
pany.

[17]

DARBY O GILL AND THE GOOD PEOPLE

" Well, I'll tell ye how it is," replied my brave
Darby. " Some of the neighbours might see me, and
spread the report on me that I'm with the fairies and
that'd disgrace Bridget and the childher," he says.

The King knocked ashes from his pipe.

" You're a wise man, besides being the hoight of
good company," says he, " and it's sorry I am you
didn't take my word, for then we would have you al-
ways, at laste till the Day of Judgment, when — but
that's nayther here nor there! Howsomever, we'll
bother you about it no more."

From that day they thrated him as one of their
own.

It was nearly five months afther that Maureen
plucked Darby by the coat and led him off to a lonely
spot.

" I've got the word," she says.

" Have you, faith! What is it.^^ " says Darby, all
of a thrimble.

Then she whispered a word so blasphaymous, so ir-
rayligious that Darby blessed himself. When Mau-
reen saw him making the sign, she fell down in a fit,
the holy emblem hurt her so, poor child.

Three hours after this me bould Darby was sitting
[18]

DARBY O GILL AND THE GOOD PEOPLE

at his own fireside talking to Bridget and the childher.
The neighbours were hurrying to him down every road
and through every field, carrying armfuls of holly
bushes, as he had sent word for them to do. He knew
well he'd have fierce and savage visitors before morn-
ing.

After they had come with the holly, he had them
make a circle of it so thick around the house that a
fly couldn't walk through without touching a twig or
leaf. But that was not all.

You'll know what a wise girl and what a crafty girl
that Maureen was when you hear what the neighbours
did next. They made a second ring of holly outside
the first, so that the house sat in two great wreaths,
one wreath around the other. The outside ring was
much the bigger, and left a good space between it and
the first, with room for ever so many people to stand
there. It was like the inner ring, except for a little
gate, left open as though by accident, where the fair-
ies could walk in.

But it wasn't an accident at all, only the wise plan
of Maureen's; for nearby this little gap, in the out-
side wreath, lay a sprig of holly with a bit of twine
tied to it. Then the twine ran along up to Darby's
[19]

DARBY O GILL AND THE GOOD PEOPLE

house, and in through the window, where its ind lay
convaynient to his hand. A Httle pull on the twine
would drag the stray piece of holly into the gap and
close tight the outside ring.

It was a trap, you see. When the fairies walked in
through the gap the twine was to be pulled, and so
they were to be made prisoners between the two rings
of holly. They couldn't get into Darby's house be-
cause the circle of holly nearest the house was so tight
that a fly couldn't get through without touching the
blessed tree or its wood. Likewise, when the gap in
the outer wreath was closed, they couldn't get out
agin. Well, anyway, these things were hardly finished
and fixed when the dusky brown of the hills warned
the neighbours of twilight, and they scurried like
frightened rabbits to their homes.

Only one amongst them all had courage to sit in-
side Darby's house waiting the dreadful wisitors, and
that one was Bob Broderick. What vengeance was in
store couldn't be guessed at all, at all, only it was sure
to be more turrible than any yet wreaked on mortal
man.

Not in Darby's house alone was the terror, for in
their anger the Good People might lay waste the whole
[20]

DARBY O GILL AND THE GOOD PEOPLE

parish. The roads and fields were empty and silent in
the darkness. Not a window glimmered with light
for miles around. Many a blaggard who hadn't said
a prayer for years was down on his marrow bones
among the dacint members of his family, thumping
his craw and roaring his Father and Aves.

In Darby's quiet house, against which the cunning,
the power, and the fury of the Good People would
first break, you can't think of half the suffering of
Bridget and the childher, as they lay huddled togeth-
er on the settle-bed; nor of the strain on Bob and
Darby, who sat smoking their dudeens and whispering
anxiously together.

For some rayson or other the Good People were
long in coming. Ten o'clock struck, thin eleven,
afther that twelve, and not a sound from the outside.
The silence, and then no sign of any kind, had them
all just about crazy, when suddenly there fell a sharp
rap on the door.

" Millia murther," whispered Darby, " we're in for
it. They've crossed the two rings of holly and are at
the door itself."

The childher begun to cry, and Bridget said her
prayers out loud ; but no one answered the knock.
[21]

DARBY o'gII.1. AND THE GOOD PEOPLE

" Rap, rap, rap," on the door, then a pause.

" God save all here ! " cried a queer voice from the
outside.

Now no fairy would say " God save all here," so
Darby took heart and opened the door. Who should
be standing there but Sheelah Maguire, a spy for the
Good People. So angry were Darby and Bob that
they snatched her within the threshold, and before she
knew it they had her tied hand and foot, wound a cloth
around her mouth, and rolled her under the bed.
Within the minute a thousand rustling woices sprung
from outside. Through the window, in the clear
moonlight. Darby marked weeds and grass being
trampled by inwisible feet be^^ond the farthest ring
of holly.

Suddenly broke a great cry. The gap in the first
ring was found. Signs were plainly seen of uncount-
able feet rushing through and spreading about the
nearer wreath. Afther that a howl of madness from
the little men and women. Darby had pulled his
twine and the trap was closed, with five thousand of
the Good People entirely at his mercy.

Princes, princesses, dukes, dukesses, earls, earlesses,
and all the quality of Sleive-na-mon were presoners.
[22]

D A K B IT O GILL AND THE GOOD PEOPLE

Not more than a dozen of the last to come escaped,
and they flew back to tell the King.

For an hour they raged. All the bad names ever
called to mortal man were given free, but Darby said
never a word. " Pickpocket ! " " Sheep-stayler ! "
" Murtherin' thaf e of a blaggard ! " were the softest
words trun at him.

By an' by, howsumever, as it begun to grow near to
cock-crow, their talk grew a great dale civiller. Then
came beggin', pladin', promisin', and enthratin', but
the doors of the house still stayed shut an' its win-
dows down.

Purty soon Darby's old rooster, Terry, came down
from his perch, yawned, an' flapped his wings a few
times. At that the terror and the screechin' of the
Good People would have melted the heart of a stone.

All of a sudden a fine clear voice rose from beyant
the crowd. The King had come. The other fairies
grew still listening.

" Ye murtherin' thafe of the worruld," says the
King, grandly, " what are ye doin' wid my people? "

" Keep a civil tongue in yer head, Brian Connors,"
says Darby, sticking his head out the window, " for
I'm as good a man as you, any day," says Darby.
[23]

DARBY O G I L I. AND THE GOOD PEOPLE

At that minute Terry, the cock, flapped his wings
and crowed. In a flash there sprang into full view
the crowd of Good People — dukes, earls, princes, qual-
ity and commoners, with their ladies — jammed thick
together about the house ; every one of them with his
head trun back bawling and crying, and tears as big
as pigeon-eggs rouling down their cheeks.

A few feet away, on a straw-pile in the barnyard,
stood the King, his goold crown tilted on the side of
his head, his long green cloak about him and his rod
in his hand, but thremblin' all over.

In the middle of the crowd, but towering high above
them all, stood Maureen McGibney in her cloak of
green an' goold, her purty brown hair fallin' down
her chowlders, an' she — the crafty villain — cryin' an'
bawlin' an' abusin' Darby with the best of them.

" What'll you have an' let them go ? " says the
King.

" First an' foremost," says Darby, " take yer spell
off that slip of a girl there, an' send her into the
house."

In a second Maureen was standing inside the door,
her both arms about Bob's neck and her head on his
collar-bone.

[24]

DARBY O GILL AND THE GOOD PEOPLE

What they said to aich other, an' what they done
in the way of embracin' an' kissin' an' cryin' I won't
take time in telling you.

" Next," says Darby, " send back Rosie and the
pigs."

" I expected that," says the King. And at those
words they saw a black bunch coming through the air,
and in a few seconds Rosie and the three pigs walked
into the stable.

" Now," says Darby, " promise in the name of Ould
Nick" ('tis by him the Good People swear) " never
to moil nor meddle agin with anyone or anything
from this parish."

The King was fair put out by this. Howsomever,
he said at last : " You ongratef ul scoundrel, in the
name of Ould Nick I promise."

" So far, so good," says Darby ; " but the worst is
yet to come. Now you must raylase from your spell
every sowl you've stole from this parish ; and besides,
you must send me two hundhred pounds in goold."

Well, the King gave a roar of anger that was heard
in the next barony.

" Ye high-handed, hard-hearted robber," he says,
" I'll never consent ! " says he.
[25]

DARBY O ' G I L I. AND THE GOOD PEOPLE

" Plase yeself ," says Darby. " I see Father Cas-
«idy comin' down the hedge," he says, " an' he has a
prayer for ye all in his book that'll burn ye up like
wisps of sthraw if he ever catches ye here," says
Darby.

With that the roaring and bawling was pitiful to
hear, and in a few minutes a bag with two hundhred
goold sovereigns in it was trun at Darby's threshold ;
and fifty people, young an' some of them ould, flew
over an' stood beside the King. Some of them had
spent years with the fairies. Their relatives thought
them dead and buried. They were the lost ones from
that parish.

With that Darby pulled the bit of twine again,
opening the trap, and it wasn't long until every fairy
was gone.

The green coat of the last one was hardly out of
sight when, sure enough, who should come up but
Father Cassidy, his book in his hand. He looked at
the fifty people who had been with the fairies standin'
there — the poor crathures — thremblin' an' wondherin'
an' afeard to go to their homes.

Darby tould him what had happened.

" Ye foolish man," says the priest, " you could
[26]

DARBY O GILL AND THE GOOD PEOPLE

have got out every poor presoner that's locked in
Sleive-na-mon, let alone those from this parish."

One could have scraped with a knife the surprise off
Darby's face.

" Would yer Reverence have me let out the Cork-
onians, the Connaught men, and the Fardowns, I ask
ye? " he says, hotly. " When Mrs. Malowney there
goes home and finds that Tim has married the Widow
Hogan, ye'U say I let out too many, even of this par-
ish, I'm thinkin'."

" But," says the priest, " ye might have got two
hundred pounds for aich of us."

" If aich had two hundhred pounds, what comfort
would I have in being rich? " axed Darby agin. " To
enjoy well being rich there should be plenty of poor,"
says Darby.

" God forgive ye, ye selfish man ! " says Father
Cassidy.

" There's another ray son besides," says Darby.
" I never got betther nor friendlier thratement than
I had from the Good People. An' the divil a
hair of their heads I'd hurt more than need be," he

ys.

Some way or other the King heard of this saying,
[27]

an' was so mightily pleased that the next night a jug
of the finest poteen was left at Darby's door.

After that, indade, many's the winter night, when
the snow lay so heavy that no neighbour was stir r in',
and when Bridget and the childher were in bed, Darby
sat by the fire, a noggin of hot punch in his hand, ar-
gying an' getting news of the whole worruld. A lit-
tle man with a goold crown on his head, a green cloak
on his back, and one foot trun over the other, sat f er-
ninst him by the hearth.

[28]

Darby O'Gill and the Leprechaun

Darby O'Gill and the Leprechaun

X HE news that Darb}^ O'Gill had spirit six months
*^ith the Good People spread fast and far and wide.

At fair or hurhn' or market he would be backed be
a crowd agin some convaynient wall and there for
hours men, women, and childher, with jaws dhroppin'
and eyes bulgin'd, stand f erninst him listening to half-
frightened questions or to bould, mystarious answers.

Alway, though, one bit of wise adwise inded his
discoorse : " Nayther make nor moil nor meddle with
the fairies," Darby'd say. " If you're going along
the lonely boreen at night and you hear, from some
fairy fort, a sound of fiddles, or of piping, or of sweet
woices singing, or of little feet patthering in the dance,
don't turn your head, but say your prayers an' hould
on your way. The pleasures the Good People'll share
with you have a sore sorrow hid in them, an' the gifts
they'll offer are only made to break hearts with."

Things went this a-way till one day in the market,
[31]

DARBY O GILL AND THE LEPRECHAUN

over among the cows, Maurteen Cavanaugh, the
schoolmasther — a cross-faced, argifying ould man he
was — conthradicted Darby pint blank. " Stay a bit,"
says Maurteen, catching Darby by the coat-collar.
" You forget about the little fairy cobbler, the Lepre-
chaun," he says. " You can't deny that to catch the
Leprechaun is great luck entirely. If one only fix
the glance of his eye on the cobbler, that look makes
the fairy a presner — one can do anything with him
as long as a human look covers the little lad — and
he'll give the favours of three wishes to buy his free-
dom," says Maurteen.

At that Darby, smiling high and knowledgeable,
made answer over the heads of the crowd.

" God help your sinse, honest man ! " he says.
" Around the favours of thim same three wishes is a
bog of thricks an' cajolories and con-ditions that'll
defayt the wisest.

" First of all, if the look be taken from the little
cobbler for as much as the wink of an eye, he's gone
forever," he says. " Man alive, even when he does
grant the favours of the three wishes, you're not safe,
for, if you tell anyone you've seen the Leprechaun,
the favours melt like snow, or if you make a fourth
[32]

DAEBY O ' G I I. L AND THE LEPEECHAUN

wish that day — whifF ! they turn to smoke. Take my
adwice — nayther make nor moil nor meddle with the
fairies."

" Thrue for ye," spoke up long Pether McCarthy,
siding in with Darby. " Didn't Barney McBride, on
his way to early mass one May morning, catch the
fairy cobbler sewing an' workin' away under a
hedge. ' Have a pinch of snuff, Barney agra,' says
the Leprechaun, handing up the little snuff-box. But,
mind ye, when my poor Barney bint to take a thumb
an' finger full, what did the little villain do but
fling the box, snuff and all, into Barney's face. An'
thin, whilst the poor lad was winkin' and blinkin', the
Leprechaun gave one leap and was lost in the reeds.

" Thin, again, there was Peggy O'Rourke, who
captured him fair an' square in a hawthorn-bush. In
spite of his wiles she wrung from him the favours of
the three wishes. Knowing, of course, that if she
towld of what had happened to her the spell was
broken and the wishes wouldn't come thrue, she hur-
ried home, aching and longing to in some way find
from her husband Andy what \^ishes she'd make.

" Throwing open her own door, she said, ' What
would ye wish for most in the world, Andy dear.^^ Tell
[33]

DARBY o'gILL AND THE LEPRECHAUN

me an' your wish'll come thrue,' says she. A peddler
was crying his wares out in the lane. ' Lanterns, tin
lanterns ! ' cried the peddler. ' I wish I had one of
thim lanterns,' says Andy, careless, and bendin' over
to get a coal for his pipe, when, lo and behold, there
was the lantern in his hand.

" Well, so vexed was Peggy that one of her fine
wishes should be wasted on a palthry tin lantern, that
she lost all patience with him. ' Why thin, bad scran
to you ! ' says she — not mindin' her own words
— ' I wish the lantern was fastened to the ind of your
nose ! '

" The word wasn't well out of her mouth till the
lantern was hung swinging from the ind of Andy's
nose in a way that the wit of man couldn't loosen.
It took the third and last of Peggy's wishes to relayse
Andy."

" Look at that, now ! " cried a dozen woices from
the admiring crowd. " Darby said so from the
first."

Well, after a time people used to come from miles

around to see Darby and sit undher the sthraw-stack

beside the stable to adwise with our hayro about their

most important business — what was the best time for

[34]

DARBY O GILL AND THE LEPRECHAUN

the sett in' of hins, or what was good to cure colic
in childher, an' things like that.

Any man so parsecuted with admiration an' hayro-
fication might aisily feel his chest swell out a bit, so
it's no wondher that Darby set himself up for a
knowledgeable man.

He took to talkin' slow an' shuttin' one eye whin he
listened, and he walked with a knowledgeable twist to
his chowlders. He grew monsthrously fond of fairs
and public gatherings where people made much of
him, and he lost every ounce of liking he ever had for
hard worruk.

Things wint on with him in this way from bad to
worse, and where it would have inded no man knows,
if one unlucky morning he hadn't rayfused to bring
in a creel of turf his wife Bridget had axed him to
fetch her. The unfortunate man said it was no work
for the likes of him.

The last word was still on Darby's lips whin he
rayalised his mistake, an' he'd have given the world
to have the sayin' back again.

For a minute you could have heard a pin dhrop.
Bridget, instead of being in a hurry to begin at
him, was crool day liberate. She planted herself
[35]

DAEBY O GILL AND THE LEPRECHAUN

in the door, her two fists on her hips, an' her lips
shut.

The look Julius Sayser'd trow at a servant-girl
he'd caught stealing sugar from the rile cupboard
was the glance she waved up and down from Darby's
toes to his head, and from his head to liis brogues
agin.

Thin she began an' talked steady as a fall of hail
that has now an' then a bit of lightning an' tunder
mixed in it.

The knowledgeable man stood purtendin' to brush
his hat and tryin' to look brave, but the heart inside
of him was meltin' like butther.

Bridget began aisily be carelessly mentioning a few
of Darby's best known wakenesses. Afther that she
took up some of them not so well known, being ones
Darby himself had sayrious doubts about having at
all. But on these last she was more savare than on
the first. Through it all he daren't say a word — he
only smiled lofty and bitther.

'Twas but natural next for Bridget to explain what

a poor crachure her husband was the day she got him,

an' what she might have been if she had married

ayther one of the six others who had axed her. The

[36]

DARBY O GILL AND THE LEPRECHAUN

step for her was a little one, thin, to the shortcom-
ings and misfortunes of his blood relaytions, which
she folljed back to the blaggardisms of his fourth
cousin, Phelim McFadden.

Even in his misery poor Darby couldn't but marvel
at her wondherful memory.

By the time she began talking of her own family,
and especially about her Aunt Honoria O'Shaugh-
nessy, who had once shook hands with a Bishop, and
who in the rebellion of '98 had trun a brick at a Lord
Liftenant, whin he was riding by, Darby was as
■wilted and as forlorn-looking as a roosther caught out
in the winther rain.

He lost more pride in those few minutes than it had
taken months to gather an' hoard. It kept falling
in great drops from his forehead.

Just as Bridget was lading up to what Father Cas-
sidy calls a pur-roar-ration — that being the part of
your wife's discoorse whin, after telling you all she's
done for you, and all she's stood from your relaytions,
she breaks down and cries, and so smothers you en-
tirely— ^just as she was coming to that, I say. Darby
scrooged his caubeen down on his head, stuck his
fingers in his two ears, and, making one grand rush
[37]

through the door, bolted as fast as his legs could
carry him down the road toward Sleive-na-mon Moun-
tains.

Bridget stood on the step looking afther him, too
surprised for a word. With his fingers still in his
ears, so that he couldn't hear her commands to turn
back, he ran without stopping till he came to the
willow-tree near Joey Hooligan's forge. There he
slowed down to fill his lungs with the fresh, sweet air.

'Twas one of those warm-hearted, laughing au-
tumn days which steals for a while the bonnet and
shawl of the May. The sun, from a sky of feathery
whiteness, laned over, telling jokes to the worruld,
an' the goold harvest-fields and purple hills, lasy and
continted, laughed back at the sun. Even the black-
bird flying over the haw-tree looked down an' sang
to those below, " God save all here ; " an' the linnet
from her bough answered back quick an' sweet, " God
save you kindly, sir ! "

With such pleasant sights and sounds an' twitter-
ings at every side, our hayro didn't feel the time pass-
ing till he was on top of the first hill of the Sleive-
na-mon Mountains, which, as everyone knows, is called
the Pig's Head.

[38]

DARBY O GILL AND THE LEPRECHAUN

It wasn't quite lonesome enough on the Pig's Head,
so our hajro plunged into the walley an' climbed the
second mountain— -the Divil's Pillow — where 'twas
lonesome and desarted enough to shuit anyone.

Beneath the shade of a three, for the days was
warm, he sat himself down in the long, sweet grass,
lit his pipe, and let his mind go free. But, as he did,
his thoughts rose together like a flock of fright-
ened, angry pheasants, an' whirred back to the
owdacious things Bridget had said about his rela-
tions.

Wasn't she the mendageous, humbrageous woman,
he thought, to say such things about as illegant stock
as the O'Gills and the O'Gradys?

Why, Wullum O'Gill, Darby's uncle, at that min-
ute, was head butler at Castle Brophy, and was known
far an' wide as being one of the foinest scholars an'
as having the most beautiful pair of legs in all Ire-
land!

This same Wullum O'Gill had tould Bridget in
Darby's own hearing, on a day when the three were
going through the great picture-gallery at Castle
Brophy, that the O'Gills at one time had been Kings
in Ireland.

[39]

Darby never since could raymember whether this
time was before the flood or afther the flood. Bridget
said it was durin' the flood, but surely that sayin' was
nonsinse.

Howsumever, Darby knew his Uncle WuUum was
right, for he often felt in himself the signs of great-
ness. And now as he sat alone on the grass he said
out loud :

" If I had me rights I'd be doing nothing all day
long but sittin' on a throne, an' playin' games
of forty-five with the Lord Liftenant an' some of me
generals. There never was a lord that likes good
ating or dhrinking betther nor I, or who hates worse
to get up airly in the morning. That last disloike
I'm tould is a great sign entirely of gentle blood the
worruld over," says he.

As for the wife's people, the O'Hagans an' the
O'Shaughnessys, well — they were no great shakes, he
said to himself, at laste so far as looks were consarned.
All the handsomeness in Darby's childher came from
his own side of the family. Even Father Cassidy said
the childher took afther the O'Gills.

" If I were rich," said Darby, to a lazy ould bum-
ble-bee who was droning an' tumbling in front of him,
[40]

DAEBY O'GILL AND THE LEPRECHAUN

" I'd have a castle like Castle Brophy, with a great
picture-gallery in it. On one wall I'd put the picture
of the O'Gills and the O'Gradys, and on the wall f er-
ninst them I'd have the O'Hagans an' the O'Shaugh-
nessys."

At that ideah his heart bubbled in a new and fierce
deloight. " Bridget's people," he says agin, scowl-
ing at the bee, " would look four times as common as
they raylly are, whin they were compared in that way
with my own relations. An' whenever Bridget got
rampageous I'd take her in and show her the differ-
ence betwixt the two clans, just to punish her, so I
would."

How long the lad sat that way warming the cowld
thoughts of his heart with drowsy, pleasant dhrames
an' misty longings he don't rightly know, whin — tack,
tack, tack, tack, came the busy sound of a little ham-
mer from the other side of a fallen oak.

" Be jingo ! " he says to himself with a start, " 'tis
the Leprechaun that's in it."

In a second he was on his hands an' knees, the tails

of his coat flung across his back, an' he crawling

softly toward the sound of the hammer. Quiet as a

mouse he lifted himself up on the mossy log to look

[41]

DARBY O GILL AND THE LEPRECHAUN

over, and there before his two popping eyes was a
sight of wondheration.

Sitting on a white stone an' working away like
fury, hammering pegs into a Kttle red shoe, half the
size of your thumb, was a bald-headed ould cobbler
of about twice the hoight of your hand. On the top
of a round, snub nose was perched a pair of horn-
rimmed spectacles, an' a narrow fringe of iron-gray
whuskers grew undher his stubby chin. The brown
leather apron he wore was so long that it covered his
green knee-breeches an' almost hid the knitted gray
stockings.

The Leprechaun — for it was he indade — as he
worked, mumbled an' mutthered in great discontent:

" Oh, haven't I the hard, hard luck," he said. " I'll
never have thim done in time for her to dance in to-
night. So, thin, I'll be kilt entirely," says he. " Was
there ever another quane of the fairies as wearing on
shoes an' brogues an' dancin'-slippers .^^ Haven't I
the — " Looking up, he saw Darby.

" The top of the day to you, dacint man ! " says

the cobbler, jumpin' up. Giving a sharp cry, he

pinted quick at Darby's stomach. " But, wirra,

wirra, what's that woolly, ugly thing you have crawl-

[42]

DARBY O ' G I li li AND THE LEPRECHAUN

ing an' creepin' on your weskit? " he said, purtendin'
to be all excited.

" Sorra thing on my weskit," answered Darby, cool
as ice, " or anywhere else that'll make me take my
two bright eyes off 'n you — not for a second," says he.

"WeU! Well! Will you look at that, now.?"
laughed the cobbler. " Mark how quick an' handy he
took me up ! Will you have a pinch of snuff, clever
man ? " he axed, houlding up the little box.

" Is it the same snuff you gave Barney McBride
a while ago ? " axed Darby, sarcastic. " Lave off your
foolishness," says our hayro, growin' fierce, " and
grant me at once the favours of the three wishes, or
I'll have you smoking like a herring in my own chim-
ney before nightfall," says he.

At that the Leprechaun, seeing that he but wasted
time on so knowledgeable a man as Darby O'Gill, sur-
rendhered, and granted the favours of the three
wishes.

" What is it you ask ? " says the cobbler, himself
turning on a sudden very sour an' sullen.

" First an' foremost," says Darby, " I want a home
of my ansisthers, an' it must be a castle Hke Castle
Brophy, with pictures of my kith an' kin on the wall,
[43]

and then facing them pictures of my wife Bridget's
kith an' kin on the other wall."

" That favour I give ye, that wish I grant ye,"
says the fairy, making the shape of a castle on the
ground with his awl.

" What next.? " he grunted.

" I want goold enough for me an' my generations
to enjoy in grandeur the place forever."

" Always the goold," sneered the little man, bend-
ing to dhraw with his awl on the turf the shape of a
purse.

" Now for your third and last wish. Have a
care ! "

" I want the castle set on this hill — the Divil's Pil-
low— where we two stand," says Darby. Then sweep-
ing with his arm, he says, " I want the land about to
be my demesne."

The Leprechaun stuck his awl on the ground.
" That wish I give you, that wish I grant you," he
says. With that he straightened himself up, and
grinning most aggravaytin' the while, he looked
Darby over from top to toe. " You're a f oine,
knowledgeable man, but have a care of the fourth
wish ! " says he.

[44]

DARBY o'gILL AND THE LEPRECHAUN

Bekase there was more of a challenge than
friendly warning in what the small lad said, Darby
snapped his fingers at him an' cried:

" Have no fear, little man ! If I got all Ireland
ground for making a fourth wish, however small, be-
fore midnight I'd not make it. I'm going home
now to fetch Bridget an' the childher, and the only
fear or unaisiness I have is that you'll not keep your
word, so as to have the castle here ready before us
when I come back."

" Oho ! I'm not to be thrusted, amn't I ? " screeched
the little lad, flaring into a blazing passion. He
jumped upon the log that was betwixt them, an' with
one fist behind his back shook the other at Darby.

" You ignorant, auspicious-minded blaggard ! "
says he. " How dare the likes of you say the likes of
that to the likes of me ! " cried the cobbler. " I'd have
you to know," he says, " that I had a repitation for
truth an' voracity ayquil if not shuperior to the best,
before you were born !" he shouted. " I'll take no high
talk from a man that's afraid to give words to his own
wife whin she's in a tantrum ! " says the Leprechaun.

" It's aisy to know you're not a married man," says

Darby, mighty scornful, " bekase if you "

[45]

DARBY O GILL AND THE LEPRECHAUN

The lad stopped short, forgetting what he was
going to say in his surprise an' aggaytation, for the
far side of the mountain was waving up an' down be-
fore his eyes like a great green blanket that is being
shook by two women, while at the same time high
spots of turf on the hillside toppled sidewise to level
themselves up with the low places. The enchantment
had already begun to make things ready for the cas-
tle. A dozen foine threes that stood in a little grove
bent their heads quickly together, and thin by some
inwisible hand they were plucked up by the roots an'
dhropped aside much the same as a man might grasp
a handful of weeds an' fling them from his garden.

The ground under the knowledgeable man's feet
began to rumble an' heave. He waited for no more.
With a cry that was half of gladness an' half of fear,
he turned on his heel an' started on a run down into
the walley, leaving the little cobbler standing on the
log, shouting abuse after him an' ballyraggin' him
as he ran.

So excited was Darby that, going up the Pig's

Head, he was nearly run over by a crowd of great

brown building stones which were moving down slow

an' ordherly like a flock of driven sheep, — but they

[46]

DARBY O GILL AND THE LEPRECHAUN

moved without so much as bruising a blade of grass
or bendin' a twig, as they came.

Only once, and that at the top of the Pig's Head,
he trew a look back.

The Divil's Pillow was in a great commotion; a
whirlwind was sweeping over it — whether of dust or
of mist he couldn't tell.

Afther this, Darby never looked back again or to
the right or the left of him, but kept straight on till
he found himself, panting and puffing, at his own
kitchen door. 'Twas tin minutes before he could
spake, but at last, whin he tould Bridget to make
ready herself and the childher to go up to the Divil's
Pillow with him, for once in her life that raymark-
able woman, without axing. How comes it so. What
rayson have you, or Why should I do it, set to work
washing the childher's faces.

Maybe she dabbed a little more soap in their eyes
than was needful, for 'twas a habit she had;
though this time if she did, not a whimper broke
from the little hajrros. For the matther of that, not
one word, good, bad or indifferent, did herself spake
till the whole family were trudging down the lane two
by two, marching like sojers.
[47]

DARBY O GILL AND THE L E P E E C H A U N

As they came near the first hill along its sides the
evening twilight turned from purple to brown, and
at the top of the Pig's Head the darkness of a black
night swooped suddenly down on them. Darby hur-
ried on a step or two ahead, an' resting his hand upon
the large rock that crowns the hill, looked anxiously
over to the Divil's Pillow. Although he was ready for
something foine, yet the greatness of the foineness
that met his gaze knocked the breath out of him.

Across the deep walley, and on top of the second
mountain, he saw lined against the evening sky the
roof of an imminse castle, with towers an' parrypets
an' battlements. Undher the towers a thousand sul-
len windows glowed red in the black walls. Castle
Brophy couldn't hould a candle to it.

" Behold ! " says Darby, flinging out his arm, and
turning to his wife, who had just come up — " behold
the castle of m3^ ansisthers who were my forefathers ! "

" How," says Bridget, quick and scornful — " how
could your aunt's sisters be your four fathers? "

What Darby was going to say to her he don't just
raymember, for at that instant from the right-hand
side of the mountain came a cracking of whips, a rat-
tling of wheels, an' the rush of horses, and, lo and
[48]

DARBY O ' G I L L AND THE LEPRECHAUN

behold! a great dark coach with flashing lamps, and
drawn by four coal-black horses, dashed up the hill
and stopped beside them. Two shadowy men were on
the driver's box.

" Is this Lord Darby O'Gill.'' " axed one of them,
in a deep, muffled woice. Before Darby could reply
Bridget took the words out of his mouth.

" It is ! " she cried, in a kind of a half cheer, " an'
Lady O'GiU an' the childher."

" Then hurry up ! " says the coachman. " Your
supper's gettin' cowld."

Without waiting for anyone Bridget flung open
the carriage-door, an' pushin' Darby aside jumped
in among the cushions. Darby, his heart sizzlin' with
vexation at her audaciousness, lifted in one after an-
other the childher, and then got in himself.

He couldn't undherstand at all the change in his
wife, for she had always been the odherliest, modestist
woman in the parish.

Well, he'd no sooner shut the door than crack went
the whip, the horses gave a spring, the carriage
jumped, and down the hill they went. For fastness
there was never another carriage-ride like that before
nor since. Darby hildt tight with both hands to the
[49]

D A K B y O GILL AND THE LEPRECHAUN

window, his face pressed against the glass. He
couldn't tell whether the horses were only flying or
whether the coach was falhng down the hill into the
walley. By the hollow feeling in his stomach he
thought they were falling. He was striving to think
of some prayers when there came a terrible joult
which sint his two heels against the roof an' his head
betwixt the cushions. As he righted himself the
wheels began to grate on a gravelled road, an' plainly
they were dashing up the side of the second moun-
tain.

Even so, they couldn't have gone far whin the car-
riage dhrew up in a flurry, an' he saw through the
gloom a high iron gate being slowly opened.

" Pass on," said a voice from somewhere in the
shadows ; " their supper's getting cowld."

As they flew undher the great archway Darby
had a glimpse of the thing which had opened the gate,
and had said their supper was getting cowld. It was
standing on its hind legs — in the darkness he couldn't
be quite sure as to its shape, but it was ayther a Bear
or a Loin.

His mind was in a pondher about this when, with
a swirl an' a bump, the carriage stopped another time,
[50]

DARBY O GILL AND THE LEPRECHAUN

an' now it stood before a broad flight of stone steps
which led up to the main door of the castle. Darby,
half afraid, peering out through the darkness, saw a
square of light high above him which came from the
open hall door. Three sarvants in livery stood wait-
ing on the thrashol.

" Make haste, make haste ! " says one, in a doleful
voice ; " their supper's gettin' cowld."

Hearing these words, Bridget imagetly bounced
out, an' was half way up the steps before Darby could
ketch her an' hould her till the childher came up.

" I never in all my life saw her so owdacious," he
says, half cryin', an' linkin' her arm to keep her back,
an' thin, with the childher follying two by two, ac-
cording to size, the whole family payraded up the
steps, till Darby, with a gasp of deloight, stopped on
the thrashol of a splendid hall. From a high ceiling
hung great flags from every nation an' domination,
which swung and swayed in the dazzlin' light.

Two lines of men and maid servants dhressed in
silks an' satins an' brocades, stood facing aich other,
bowing an' smiling an' wavin' their hands in welcome.
The two lines stretched down to the goold stairway at
the far ind of the hall.

[31]

DARBY o'gILL AND THE LEPRECHAUN

For half of one minute Darby, every eye in his head
as big as a tay-cup, stood hesitaytin'. Thin he said,
" Why should it flutther me ? Arrah, ain't it all mine ?
Aren't all these people in me pay? I'll engage it's a
pritty penny all this grandeur is costing me to keep
up this minute." He trew out his chist. " Come on,
Bridget ! " he says ; " let's go into the home of my
ansisthers."

Howandever, scarcely had he stepped into the
beautiful place whin two pipers with their pipes, two
fiddlers with their fiddles, two flute-players with their
flutes, an' they dhressed in scarlet an' goold, stepped
out in front of him, and thus to maylodius music the
family proudly marched down the hall, climbed up
the goolden stairway at its ind, an' thin turned to
enter the biggest room Darby had ever seen.

Something in his sowl whuspered that this was the
picture-gallery .

"Be the powers of Pewther ! " says the knowledge-
able man to himself, " I wouldn't be in Bridget's place
this minute for a hatful of money! Wait, oh just
wait, till she has to compare her own relations with
my own f oine people ! I know how she'll feel, but I
wondher what she'll say," he says.
[52]

DAEBY O GILL AND THE LEPRECHAUN

The thought that all the unjust things, all the
unraysonablc things Bridget had said about his
kith an' kin were just going to be disproved and
turned against herself, made him proud an' almost
happy.

But wirrasthrue! He should have raymembered
his own adwise not to make nor moil nor meddle with
the fairies, for here he was to get the first hard welt
from the little Leprechaun.

It was the picture-gallery sure enough, but how
terribly different everything was from what the poor
lad expected. There on the left wall, grand an'
noble, shone the pictures of Bridget's people. Of all
the well-dressed, handsome, proud-appearing persons
in the whole worruld,the O'Hagans an' the O'Shaugh-
nessys would compare with the best. This was
a hard enough crack, though a crushinger knock was
to come. Ferninst them on the right wall glowered
the O'Gills and the O'Gradys, and of all the ragged,
sheep-stealing, hangdog-looking villains one ever saw
in jail or out of jail, it was Darby's kindred.

The place of honour on the right wall was given
to Darby's fourth cousin, Phelem McFadden, an' he
was painted with a pair of handcuffs on him. Wull-
[53]

DARBY O GILL AND THE LEPRECHAUN

um O'Gill had a squint in his right eye, and his thin
legs bowed like hoops on a barrel.

If you have ever at night been groping your way
through a dark room, and got a sudden, hard bump
on the forehead from the edge of the door, you can
undherstand the feelings of the knowledgeable man.

" Take that picture out ! " he said, hoarsely, as
soon as he could speak. " An' will someone kindly
inthrojuice me to the man who med it.'' Bekase," he
says, " I intend to take his life ! There was never
a crass-eyed O'Gill since the world began," says he.

Think of his horror an' surprise whin he saw the
left eye of Wullum O'Gill twist itself slowly over
toward his nose and squint worse than the right
eye.

Purtending not to see this, an' hoping no one else
did. Darby fiercely led the way over to the other wall.

Fronting him stood the handsome picture of Ho-
noria O'Shaughnessy, an' she dhressed in a shuit of
tin clothes like the knights of ould used to wear —
armour I think they calls it.

She hildt a spear in her hand with a little flag on
the blade, an' her smile was proud and high.

" Take that likeness out, too," says Darby, very
[54]

DAEBY O GILL AND THE LEPRECHAUN

spiteful ; " that's not a dacint shuit of clothes for any
woman to wear ! "

The next minute you might have knocked him
down with a feather, for the picture of Honoria
O'Shaughnessy opened its mouth an' stuck out its
tongue at him.

" The supper's getting cowld, the supper's getting
cowld ! " someone cried at the other ind of the picture-
gallery. Two big doors were swung open, an' glad
enough was our poor hayro to folly the musicianers
down to the room where the ating an' drinking were
to be thransacted.

This was a little room with lots of looking-glasses,
and it was bright with a thousand candles, and white
with the shining-ist marble. On the table was biled
beef an' reddishes an' carrots an' roast mutton an'
all kinds of important ating an' drinking. Beside
there stood fruits an' sweets an' — but, sure, what is
the use in talkin' ?

A high-backed chair stood ready for aich of the
family, an' 'twas a lovely sight to see them all whin
they were sitting there — Darby at the head, Bridget
at the foot, the childher — the poor little paythriarchs
— sitting bolt upright on aich side, with a bewigged
[55]

DARBY O GILL AND THE LEPRECHAUN

and befrilled serving-man standing haughty behind
every chair.

The atin' and dhrinkin' would have begun at once
— in throth there was already a bit of biled beef on
Darby's plate — only that he spied a little silver bell
beside him. Sure, 'twas one like those the quality
keep to ring whin they want more hot wather for their
punch, but it puzzled the knowledgeable man, and
'twas the beginning of his misfortune.

" I wondher," he thought, " if 'tis here for the
same raison as the bell is at the Curragh races — do
they ring this one so that all at the table will start
ating and dhrinking fair, an' no one will have the
advantage, or is it," he says to himself agin, " to
ring whin the head of the house thinks everyone has
had enough. Haven't the quality quare ways! I'll
be a long time learning them," he says.

He sat silent and puzzling an' staring at the biled
beef on his plate, afeard to start in without ringing
the bell, an' dhreadin' to risk ringing it. The grand
sarvants towered cowldly on every side, their chins
tilted, but they kep' throwing over their chowlders
glances so scornful and haughty that Darby shivered
at the thought of showing any uncultivaytion.
[56]

DARBY O GILL AND THE LEPRECHAUN

While our hayro sat thus in unaisy continiplation
an' smouldherin' mortification an' flurried hesitay-
tion a powdhered head was poked over his chowlder,
and a soft, beguihng voice said, " Is there anything
else you'd wish for? "

The foolish lad twisted in his chair, opened his
mouth to spake, and gave a look at the bell; shame
rushed to his cheeks, he picked up a bit of the biled
beef on his fork, an' to consale his turpitaytion gave
the misfortunit answer:

" I'd wish for a pinch of salt, if you plaze," says
he.

'Twas no sooner said than came the crash. Oh,
tunderation an' murdheration, what a roaring crash
it was ! The lights winked out together at a breath
an' left a pitchy, throbbing darkness. Overhead and
to the sides was a roaring, smashing, crunching noise,
like the ocean's madness when the winthry storm
breaks agin the Kerry shore, an' in that roar was
mingled the tearing and the splitting of tha walls and
the falling of the chimneys. But through all this
con-fusion could be heard the shrill, laughing woice
of the Leprechaun. " The clever man med his fourth
grand wish " it howled.

[57]

Darby — a thousand wild woices screaming an'
mocking above him — was on his back kicking and
squirming and striving to get up, but some load hilt
him down, an' something bound his eyes shut.

"Are you kilt, Bridget asthore? " he cried;
" where are the childher? " he says.

Instead of answer there suddenly flashed a fierce
an' angry silence, an' its quickness frightened the lad
more than all the wild confusion before.

'Twas a full minute before he dared to open his
eyes to face the horrors which he felt were standing
about him; but when courage enough to look came,
all he saw was the night-covered mountain, a purple
sky, and a thin, new moon, with one trembling goold
star a hand's space above its bosom.

Darby struggled to his feet. Not a stone of the
castle was left, not a sod of turf but what was in its
ould place ; every sign of the little cobbler's work had
melted like April snow. The very threes Darby had
seen pulled up by the roots that same afternoon now
stood a waving blur below the new moon, an' a night-
ingale was singing in their branches. A cricket
chirped lonesomely on the same fallen log which had
hidden the Leprechaun.

[68]

DARBY O GILI. AND THE LE.^RECHAUN

" Bridget ! Bridget ! " Darby called agin an' agin.
Only a sleepy owl on a distant hill answered.

A shivering thought jumped into the boy's bewil-
dered sowl — maybe the Leprechaun had stolen
Bridget an' the childher.

The poor man turned, and for the last time darted
down into the night-filled walley.

Not a pool in the road he waited to go around,
not a ditch in his path he didn't leap over, but ran
as he never ran before till he raiched his own front
door.

His heart stood still as he peeped through the win-
dow. There were the childher croodled around
Bridget, who sat with the youngest asleep in her lap
before the fire, rocking back an' forth, an' she croon-
ing a happy, continted baby-song.

Tears of gladness crept into Darby's eyes as he
looked in upon her. " God bless her ! " he says to
himself. " She's the flower of the O'Hagans and the
O'Shaughnessys, and she's a proud feather in the
caps of the O'Gills and the O'Gradys."

'Twas well he had this happy thought to cheer him
as he lifted the door-latch, for the manest of all the
little cobbler's spiteful thricks waited in the house to
IS9]

DARBY O GII.L AND THE I. E P R E C H A U N

meet Darby — na3^ther Bridget nor the childher ray-
membered a single thing of all that had happened
to them during the day. They were willing to make
their happydavitts that they had been no farther
than their own petatie-patch since morning.

[60]

The Convarsion of Father Cassidy

The CoNVARSioN of Father Cassidy

± TOULD you how on cowld winther nights whin
Bridget and the childher were in bed, ould Brian Con-
nors, King of the Fairies, used to sit visitin' at Darby
O'Gill's own fireside. But I never tould you of the
wild night whin the King faced Father Cassidy there.
• •■••••

Darby O'Gill sat at his own kitchen fire the night
afther Mrs. Morrisey's burying, study in' over a
gr-r-reat day bate that was heldt at her wake.

Ilalf-witted Red Durgan begun it be asking loud
an' sudden of the whole company, " Who was the
greatest man that ever lived in the whole worruld.'^
I want to know purtic'lar, an' I'd like to know at
once," he says.

At that the dayliberations started.

Big Joey Hooligan, the smith, hildt out for Julius
Sayser, bekase Sayser had throunced the widdy
woman Clayopathra.

[63]

CONVARSION OF FATHER CASSIDY

Maurteen Cavanaugh, the little schoolmaster, stood
up for Bonyparte, an' wanted to fight Dinnis Mori-
arity for disputin' agin the Frenchman.

Howsumever, the starter of the rale excitement
was ould Mrs. Clancy. She was not what you'd call
a great histhorian, but the parish thought her a f oine,
sinsible woman. She said that the greatest man was
Nebbycodnazer, the King of the Jews, who ate grass
like a cow and grew fat on it.

" Could Julius Sayser or Napoleon Bonyparte do
as much.? " she axed.

Well, purty soon everyone was talking at once,
hurling at aich pther, as they would pavin'-stones,
the names of poets an' warriors an' scholars.

But afther all was said an' done, the mourners
wint away in the morning with nothing settled.

So the night afther, while Darby was warming his
shins before his own turf fire in deep meditaytion and
wise cogitaytion and ca'm contemplaytion over these
high conversaytions, the Master of the Good People
flew ragin' Into the kitchen.

" Darby O'Gill, what do you think of your wife
Bridget .f^ " sa^^s he, fiercely.

" Faix, I don't know what particular thing she's
[64]

CONVARSION OF FATHER CASSIDY

done," sajs Darby, rubbing his shins and lookin'
troubled, " but I can guess it's something mighty dis-
agrayable. She wore her blue petticoat and her brown
shawl whin she went away this morning, and I always
expect ructions whin she puts on that shuit of clothes.
Thin agin, she looked so sour and so satisfied whin
she came back that I'm worried bad in my mind ; you
don't know how uncomfortable she can make things
sometimes, quiet as she looks," says he.

" And well you may be worried, dacint man ! " says
the ruler of Sleive-na-mon ; " you'll rage and you'll
roar whin ye hear me. She wint this day to Father
Cassidy and slandhered me outrageous," he says.
" She tould him that you and Maureen were col-
loguing with a little ould, wicked, thieving fairy-man,
and that if something wasn't done at once agin him
the sowls of both of ye would be desthroyed entirely."

Whin Darby found 'twas not himself that was
being bothered, but only the King, he grew aisier in
his feelings. " Sure you wouldn't mind' women's
talk," says he, waving his hand in a lofty way.
" Many a good man has been given a bad name by
them before this, and will be agin — you're not the
first by any manes," says he. " If Bridget makes you
[66]

CONVARSION OF FATHER CASSIDY

a bad repitation, think how many years you have to
live it down in. Be sinsible, King ! " he says.

" But I do mind, and I must mind ! " bawled the
little fairy-man, every hair and whusker bristling,
" for this minute Father Cassidy is putting the bridle
and saddle on his black hunter, Terror; he has a
prayer-book in his pocket, and he's coming to read
prayers over me and to banish me into the say.
Hark ! listen to that," he says.

As he spoke, a shrill little voice broke into singing
outside the window.

** Ohy whafll you do if the kittle biles over,
Sure^ whafU you do but Jill it agin;
Ahy whafll you do if you marry a sojer^

But pack up your clothes and yo marchin' with himJ**

" That's the signal ! " says the King, all excited ;
" he's coming and I'll face him here at this hearth,
but sorrow foot he'll put over that threshol' till I give
him lave. Then we'll have it out face to face like
men f erninst this fire ! "

Whin Darby heard those words great fright struck
him.

" If a hair of his Riverence's head be harmed," he
says, " 'tis not you but me and my generation'U be
[66]

CONVARSION OF FATHER CASSIDY

blamed for it. Plaze go back to Sleive-na-mon this
night, for pace and quietness sake ! " he begged.

While Darby spoke, the fairy-man was fixing one
stool on top of another undher the window.

" I'll sit at this window," says the Master of the
Good People, wagging his head threateningly, " and
from there I'll give me ordhers. The throuble he's
thrying to bring on others is the throuble I'll throuble
him with. If he comes dacint, he'll go dacint ; if he
comes bothering, he'll go bothered," says he.

Faith, thin, your Honour, the King spoke no less
than the truth, for at that very minute Terror, as
foine a horse as ever followed hounds, was galloping
down the starlit road to Darby's house, and over Ter-
ror's mane bent as foine a horseman as ever took a
six-bar gate — Father Cassidy.

On and on through the moonlight they clattered,
till they came in sight of Darby's gate, where, unseen
and onwisible, a score of the Good People, with thorns
in their fists, lay sniggering and laughing, waiting
for the horse. Of course the fairies couldn't harm
the good man himself, but Terror was complately at
their marcy.

" We'll not stop to open the gate, Terror," says
[67]

CONVAKSION OF FATHER CASSIDY

his Riverence, patting the haste's neck. " I'll give
you a bit of a lift with the bridle-rein, and a touch
like that on the flank, and do you clear it, my swallow-
bird."

Well, sir, the priest riz in his stirrups, lifted the
rein, and Terror crouched for the spring, whin, with
a sudden snort of pain, the baste whirled round and
started like the wind back up the road.

His Riverence pulled the horse to its haunches and
swung him round once more facing the cottage. Up
on his hind feet went Terror and stood crazy for a
second, pawing the air, then with a cry of rage and
pain in his throat, the baste turned, made a rush
for the hedge at the roadside, and cleared it like an
arrow.

Now, just beyant the hedge was a bog so thin that
the geese wouldn't walk on it, and so thick that the
ducks couldn't swim in it. Into the middle of that
cowld pond Terror fell with a splash and a crash.

That minute the King climbed down from the win-
dow splitting with laughter. " Darby," he says, slap-
ping his knees, " Father Cassidy is floundhering about
in the bog outside. He's not hurt, but he's mighty
cowld and uncomfortable. Do you go and make him
[68]

CONVARSION OF FATHER CASSIDY

promise not to read any prayers this night, then
bring him in. Tell him that if he don't promise, by
the piper that played before Moses, he may stay read-
ing his prayers in the bog till morning, for he can't
get out unless some of my people go in and help
him ! " says the King.

Darby's heart began hammerin' agin his ribs as
though it were making heavy horseshoes.

" If that's so, I'm a ruined man ! " he says. " I'd
give tunty pounds rather than face him now ! "
says he.

The disthracted lad put his hat on to go out, an'
thin he took it off to stay in. He let a groan out of
him that shook all his bones.

" You may save him or lave him," says the King,
turning to the window. " I'm going to lave the priest
see in a minute what's bothering him. If he's not out
of the bog be that time, I'd adwise you to lave the
counthry. Maybe you'll only have a pair of cow's
horns put on ye, but I think ye'll be kilt," he says.
" My own mind's aisy. I wash my hands of him !

" That's the great comfort and adwantage of hav-
ing your sowl's salwation fixed and sartin one way
or the other," says the King, peering out. " Whin
[69]

CONVAESION OF FATHER CASSIDY

you do a thing, bad as it is or good as it may be,
your mind is .«till aisy, bekase — " he turned from the
window to look at Darby, but the lad was gone out
into the moonlight, and was shrinkin' an' cringin' up
toward the bog, as though he were going to meet and
talk with the ghost of a man he'd murdhered. 'Twas
a harsher an' angrier woice than that of any ghost
that came out of a great flopping and splashin' in the
bog.

Father Cassidy sat with his feet dhrawn up on
Terror, and the horse was half sunk in the mire. At
times he urged Terror over to the bank, an' just as
the baste was raising to step out, with a snort, it'd
whirl back agin.

He'd thry another side, but spur as he might, and
whip as he would, the horse'd turn shivering back
to the middle of the bog.

" Is that you. Darby O'Gill, you vagebone ? " cried
his Riverence. " Help me out of this to the dhry
land so as I can take the life of you ! " he cried.

" What right has anyone to go trespassin' in my

bog, mussing it all up an' spiling it? " says Darby,

purtendin' not to raycognise the priest ; " I keep it

private for my ducks and geese, and I'll have the law

[70]

CONVARSION OF FATHER CASSIDY

on you, so I will — Oh, be the powers of pewther, 'tis
me own dear Father Cassidy ! " he cried.

Father Cassidy, as an answer, raiched for a hand-
ful of mud, which he aimed and flung so fair an'
thrue that three days afther Darby was still pulling
bits of it from his hair.

" I have a whip I'll keep private for your own
two foine legs ! " cried his Riverence ; " I'll taich you
to tell lies to the counthry-side about your being with
the fairies, and for deludherin' your own poor wife.
I came down this night to eggspose you. But now
that's the laste I'll do to you ! "

" Faith," says Darby, " if I was with the fairies,
'tis no less than you are this minute, an' if you eggs-
pose me, I'll eggspose you ! " With that Darby up
and tould what was the cause of the whole bother-
ation.

His Riverence, afther the telling, waited not a min-
ute, but kicked the spurs into Terror, and the brave
horse headed once more for shore. 'Twas no use.
The poor baste turned at last with a cry and floun-
dhered back agin into the mire.

" You'll not be able to get out, Father acushla,"
says Darby, " till you promise fair an' firm not to
[71]

CONVARSION OF FATHER CASSIDY

read any prayers over the Good People this night,
and never to hurt or molest meself on any account.
About this last promise the King is very particular
entirely."

" You dundherheaded Booligadhaun ! " says
Father Cassidy, turning all the blame on Darby;
" you mayandherin' Mayrauder of the Sivin Says ! "
he says. " You big-headed scorpion of the worruld,
with bow-legs ! " cried he, — an' things like that.

" Oh, my ! Oh, my ! Oh, my ! " says Darby, pur-
tendin' to be shocked, " to think that me own pasture
should use sich terrible langwidge! That me own
dear Father Cassidy could spake blaggard words like
thim! Every dhrop of blood in me is biling with
scandalation. Let me beg of you and implore your
Riverence never agin to make use of talk like
that. It breaks my heart to hear you ! " says the
villian.

For a few minutes afther that Darby was doin'
nothing but dodging handfuls of mud.

While this was going on, a soft red glow, like that

which hangs above the lonely raths an' forts at night

when the fairies are dancin' in thim, came over the

fields. So whin Father Cassidy riz in his stirrups

[72]

CONVARSION OF FATHER CASSIDY

the soft glow was resting on the bog, and there he
saw two score of little men in green jackets and brown
caps waiting about the pond's edge, and everyone
houlding a switch in his hands.

The little lads knew well 'twas too dark for the
clergyman to read from his book any banishing
prayers, and barring having too much fun, the divil
a thing they had to fear !

'Twas fresh anger that came to Father Cassidy
afther the first rush of surprise and wondher. He
thried now to get at the Good People, to lay his hands
on thim. A dozen charges at the bank his Riverence
made, and as many times a score of the Little People
flew up to meet him and sthruck the poor baste over
the soft nose with their wands till the horse was welted
back.

Long afther the struggle was proved hopeless it
wint on till at last the poor baste, thrembling and dis-
heartened, rayfused to mind the spur.

At that Father Cassidy gave up. " I surrender,"
he said, " an' I promise for the sake of my horse,"
said he.

The baste himself undherstood the worruds, for
with that he waded ca'm an' quiet to the dhry land
[73]

CONVARSION OF FATHER CASSIDY

and stood shaking himself there among the pack of
fairies.

Mighty few words were passed betwixt Darby and
Terror's rider as the whole party went up to Darby's
stable, the little people follying behind quiet and
ordherly.

It was not long till Terror was nibbling comfort-
ably in a stall, Father Cassidy was dhrying himself
before the kitchen fire, the King and Darby were sit-
ting by the side of the hearth, and two score of the
green-cloaked Little People were scatthered about the
kitchen waiting for the great debate which was sure
to come betwixt his Riverence and the head man of
the Good People, now that the two had met.

So full was the room that some of the Good People
sat on the shelves of the dhresser, others lay on the
table, their chins in their fists, whilst little Phelim Beg
was perching himself on a picture above the hearth.
He'd no sooner touched the picture-frame than he let
a howl out of him and jumped to the floor. " I'm
burned to the bone ! " says he.

" No wondher," says the King, looking up ; " 'twas
a picture of St. Patrick you were sitting on."

Phadrig Oge, swinging his heels, balanced him-
[74]

CONVARSION OF FATHER CASSIDY

self on the edge of a churn filled with buttermilk,
but everyone of them kept wondhering eyes fastened
on the priest.

And to tell the truth, Father Cassidy at first was
more scornful and unpolite than he need be.

" I suppose," says his Riverence, " you do be wor-
rying a good deal about the place you're going to
afther the Day of Judgment? " he says, kind of
mocking.

" Arrah, now," says the King, taking the pipe
from his mouth and staring hard at the clargyman,
" there's more than me ought to be studying that
question. There's a parish priest I knew, and he's
not far from here, who ate mate on a fast day, three
years ago come next Michaelmas, who should be a
good lot intherested in that same place," says the
King.

The laughing and tittering that foUyed this hit
lasted a minute.

Father Cassidy turned scarlet. " When I ate it I
forgot the day ! " he cried.

" That's what you tould," says the King, smiling
sweet, " but that saying don't help your chanst much.
Maybe you failed to say your prayers a year ago
[76]

CONVARSION OF FATHER CASSIDY

last Ayster Monday night for the same rayson? "
axed the King, very cool.

At this the laughing broke out agin, uproarious,
some of the little men houlding their sides and tears
rowling down their cheeks; two lads begun dancing
together before the chiny dishes upon the dhresser.
But at the hoight of the merriment there was a cry
and a splash, for Phadrig Oge had fallen into the
churn.

Before anyone could help him Phadrig had climbed
bravely up the churn-dash, hand over hand like a sail-
or man, and clambered out all white and dripping.
" Don't mind me," he says ; " go on wid the dis-
coorse ! " he cried, shaking himself. The Ruler of the
Good People looked vexed.

" I marvel at yez, an' I am ashamed of yez ! " he
says. " If I'm not able alone for this dayludhered
man, yer shoutin' and your gallivantin'll do me no
good. Besides, fair play's a jewel, even two agin
one ain't fair," says the King. " If I hear another
word from one of yez, back to Sleive-na-mon he'll go,
an' lay there on the broad of his back, with his heels
in the air, for a year and tin days !

" You were about to obsarve, Father Cassidy,**
[76]

CONVARSION OF FATHEE CASSIDY

says his Majesty, bowing low — " your most obay-
dient sir 1 "

" I was about to say," cried his Riverence, " that
you're a friend of Sattin ! "

" I'll not deny that," says the King ; " what have
you to say agin him? "

" He's a rogue and a rapscallion and the inemy
of mankind ! " tundered Father Cassidy.

" Prove he's a rogue ! " cries the King, slapping
one hand on the other ; " and why shouldn't he be the
inemy of mankind ? What has mankind iver done for
him except to lay the blame of every mane, cowardly
thrick of its own on his chowlders. Wasn't it on their
account he was put inside of the swine and dhrove
into the say ? Wasn't it bekase of them he spint sivin
days and sivin nights in the belly of a whale, wasn't
it ''

" Stop there, now ! " says Father Cassidy, pint-
ing his finger ; " hould where you are — that was
Jonah."

" You're working meracles to make me forget ! "
shouted the King.

" I'm not ! " cried the priest, " and what's more, if
you'll agree not to use charms of the black art to help
[77]

CONVARSION OF FATHER CASSIDY

yourself, I'll promise not to work meracles agin
you."

" Done ! I'll agree," says the King, " and with
that bargain I'll go on first, and I'll prove that man-
kind is the inemy of Sattin."

" Who begun the inmity ? " intherrupted his Riv-
erence ; " who started in be tempting our first par-
ents?"

" Not wishing to make little of a man's relay tions
in his own house or to his own face, but your first
parents were a poor lot," said the King. " Didn't
your first parent turn quane's evidence agin his own
wife? Answer me that ! "

" Undher the sarcumstances, would ye have him
tell a lie whin he was asked? " says the priest right
back.

Well, the argyment got hotter and hotter until
Darbj^'s mind was in splinthers. Sometimes he sided
with Ould Nick, sometimes he was agin him. Half
of what they said he didn't undherstand. They
talked Tayology, Conchology, and Distrology, they
hammered aich other with Jayography, Orthography,
and Misnography, they welted aich other with
Hylosophy, Philosophy, and Thrimosophy. They
[78]

CONVARSION OF FATHER CASSIDY

bounced up and down in their sates, they shouted and
got purple in the face. But every argyment brought
out another nearly as good and twict as loud.

Through all this time the follyers of the King sat
upon their perches or lay upon the table motionless,
like little wooden images with painted green cloaks
and brown caps.

Darby, looking from one to the other of them for
help to undherstand the thraymendous argyment that
was goin' on, felt his brain growin' numb. At last
it balked like Shamus Free's donkey, and urge as he
would, the divil a foot his mind'd stir afther the two
hayros. It turned at last and galloped back to Mrs.
Morrisey's wake.

Now, thin, the thought that came into Darby's
head as he sat there ferninst Father Cassidy an' the
King was this :

" The two wisest persons in Ireland are this min-
ute shouting and disputing before me own turf fire.
If I ax them those questions, I'll be wiser than Maur-
teen Cavanaugh, the schoolmaster, an' twict as wise
as any other man in this parish. I'll do it," he says
to himself.

He raised the tongs and struck them so loud and
[79]

CONVAESION OF FATHER CASSIDY

quick against the hearth that the two daybaters
stopped short in their talk to look at him.

" Tell me," he says — " lave off and tell me who was
the greatest man that ever lived? " says he.

At that a surprising thing happened. Brian Con-
nors and Father Cassidy, aich striving to speak first,
answered in the same breath and gave the same name.

" Dan'le O'Connell," says they.

There was at that the instant's silence an' stillness
which foUys a great explosion of gunpowdher.

Thin every subject of the King started to his feet.

" Three cheers for Dan'le O'Connell!" cried little
Roderick Dhue. Every brown cap was swung in the
air. " Hooray ! Hooray ! Hooroo ! " rang the
cheers.

His Riverence and the fairy-chief turned sharp
about and stared at each other, delighted and won-
dhering.

Darby sthruck agin with the tongs. " Who was
the greatest poet.?" says he.

Agin the two spoke together. " Tom Moore," says

they. The King rubbed his hands and gave a glad

side look at the priest. Darby marked the friendly

light that was stealing into Father Cassidy's brown

[80]

CONVARSION OF FATHER CASSIDY

eyes. There was great excitement among the Good
People up on the cupboard shelves.

On the table little Nial, the wise, was thrying to
start three cheers for Father Cassidy, when Darby
said agin: " Who was the greatest warrior? " he says.

The kitchen grew still as death, aich of the two
hayros waiting for the other.

The King spoke first. " Brian Boru," says he.

" No," says Father Cassidy, half laughing ;
" Owen Roe O'Nale."

Phadrig Oge jumped from the churn. " Owen
Roe forever ! I always said it ! " cries he. " Look
at this man, boys," he says, pinting up to the priest.
" There's the making of the foinest bishop in Ire-
land!"

" The divil a much diifer betwixt Owen Roe an'
Brian Boru ! 'Tis one of them two, an' I don't care
which ! " says the King.

The priest and the King sank back in their chairs,
eyeing aich other with admay ration.

Darby powered something out of a jug into three
brown stone noggins, and then turned hot wather
from the kittle on top of that agin.

Says the King to the clargyman, " You're the
[81]

CONVARSION OF FATHER CASSIDY

cleverest and the knowingest man I've met in
five thousand years. That joult you gave me about
Jonah was a terror ! "

" I never saw your ayquil ! If we could only send
you to Parliament, you'd free Ireland ! " says Father
Cassidy. " To think," says he, " that once I used
to believe there was no such thing as fairies ! "

" That was bekase you were shuperstitious," says
the King. " Everyone is so, more or less. I am me-
self — a little," says he.

Darby was stirrin' spoons in the three steaming
noggins and Father Cassidy was looking throubled.

What would his flock say to see him dhrinking
punch with a little ould pagin, who was the friend
of OuldNick?

" Your health ! " says the King, houlding up the
cup.

His Riverence took a bowl of the punch, for day-
cency's sake, and stood quiet a minute. At last he
says, " Happiness to you and forgiveness to you, and
my heart's pity folly you ! " says he, raising the
noggin to his lips.

He dhrained the cup thoughtful and solemn, for
he didn't know rightly whether 'twas a vaynial sin or
[82]

CONVAESION OF FATHER CASSIDY

a mortial sin he'd committed by the bad example he
was giving Darby.

" I wisht I could do something for yez," he says,
putting on his cloak, " but I have only pity and kind
wishes to give you ! "

He turned agin when his hand was on the door-
knob, and was going to say something else, but
changed his mind, and wint out to where Darby was
houlding the horse.

Manewhile, the Little People were consultin' eager
in a knot beside the fireplace, until the King broke
away an' foUyed Father Cassidy out.

" Wait a minute ! " the fairy says. " There's some-
thin' important your Riverence should know about,"
he says. " There's two speckled bins that sthrayed
away from your own door over to the black pond, an'
they've been there this twelvemonth. I'm loathe to
say it, but in yer own mind your honour a-ccused
Bothered Bill Donahue, the tinker, with takin' thim.
Well, they've raised two great clutches of chickens
an' they're all yours. We thought we'd tell ye," he
says.

" An' last Chewsday night Nancy Burke bate her
husband Dicky for being 'toxicated. I think she
[83]

CONVARSION OF FATHER CASSIDY

bate him too scan'lous," says little Nial, the fiddler,
comin' out. " An' Dicky is too proud to complain of
her to your honour. He says 'twould be makin' a
kind of informer out of himself. But maybe she'll
bate him agin, so I thought to mintion it," he says.
With that Phadrig Oge broke in from where he stood
on the thrashol' :

" Tom Healy's family, up the mountainy way, is
all down with the faver; they have no one to send
worrud ! " cried Phadrig ; " your honour ought to
know about it," he says.

Be this time the Good People were all outside,
crowded about the horse, an' aich one excited, shout-
ing up some friendly informaytion.

Father Cassidy, from Terror's back, sat smilin'
down kind, first on this one, then on that, an' then
on the other.

" Wisha ! " says he, " ain't ye the kindly cra-
chures ! I've heard more news of me own parish in
the last foive minutes than I'd have learned in a
twelvemonth. But there's one thing I'd liked mighty
well to know. Maybe 3^ez could tell me," says he,
" who committed the mystarious crime in this parish
a year ago last Christmas? Who stole the six shil-
[84]

CONVARSIOX OF FATHER CASSIDY

lin's from ould Mrs. Frawley? She counted them at
Mrs. McGee's, an' she felt them in her pocket at Mrs.
Donovan's; the crowd jostled her at the chapel door,
an' afther that they were gone," he says.

Well, the fairies were splittin' with laughter as he
spoke.

" No one stole thim at all," says Shaun Rhue, the
tears of merriment rollin' down his face. " The dis-
raymemberin' woman only aymagins she counted thim
at Mrs. McGee's an' felt thim at Mrs. Donovan's. She
was only thinkin' about the money at thim places,
an' that's how she got the ideeh. She hid the shillin's
in the blue taypot with the broken spout, that stands
in the left-han' corner of the mayhogany dhresser,
an' thin forgot it entirely," he says.

" Well, look at that, now," says the priest, " an'
all the turmile there's been about that same six shil-
lin's, an' she afther hidin' them in the taypot herself.
Now isn't there something I can do in rayturn for all
your kindness ? " he says.

" There's one thing," sa3^s King Brian Connors,

lookin' a good dale confuged. " If your Riverence

could just as well — if it'd be no positive inconvayni-

ence — we'd like mightilly for ye not to be singin'

[85]

CONVARSION OF FATHER CASSIDY

pious hymns as you go riding along the highway
afther dark. If you'd sing ballads, now, or Tom
Moore's melodies. You mane no harrum, of course,
as it is, but last week you broke up a dance we were
having at Murray's rath, an' Saturday night you
put a scatther on a crowd of us as we were coming
by McGrath's meadow," he says, anxious.

'Twas a quare bargain for a clargyman to make,
an' faix it wint agin his conscience, but he hadn't the
heart to rayfuse. So he bint down an' shook the
King's hand. " I promise," he says.

A wild, shrill cheer broke from the throng of Little
People.

" Now I'll go home an' lave yez in peace," says
Father Cassidy, grippin' his bridle-rein. " I came yer
inemy, but I'm convarted. I'll go back yer friend,"
he says.

" Ye won't go home alone, we'll escorch ye ! "
shouted Phadrig Oge.

Wullum Fagin, the poacher, was sneakin' home
that night about one o'clock, with a bag full of rabbits
undher his arrum, whin hearing behind him the bate
[86]

CONVARSION OF FATHER CASSIDY

of horse's hoofs and the sound of maylodious music,
he jumped into the ditch and lay close within the
shadow.

Who should come canthering up the starlit road
but Father Cassidy, on his big black hunter, Terror.

Wullum looked for the musicianers who were sing-
ing and playing the enthrancing music, but sorra one
could he see, and what was more, the sounds came
from the air high above Father Cassidy^s head.

" 'Tis the angels guarding the good man," says
Wullum.

Sure 'twas only the Good People escorching his
Riverence from Darby O'Gill's house, and to cheer
him on his way, singing the while, " Believe me, if
all those endearing young charms."

[87]

How THE Fairies Came to Ireland

How THE Fairies Came to Ireland

Jl HE most lonesome bridle-path in all Ireland leads
from Tom Healey's cottage down the sides of the hills,
along the edge of the valley, till it raiches the high-
road that skirts the great mountain, Sleive-na-mon.

One blusthering, unaisy night Father Cassidy, on
his way home from a sick-call, rode over that same
path. It wasn't strange that the priest, as his horse
ambled along, should be thinking of that other night
in Darby O'Gill's kitchen — the night when he met
with the Good People; for there, off to the left,
towered and threatened Sleive-na-mon, the home of
the fairies.

The dismal ould mountain glowered toward his
Riverence, its dark look saying, plain as spoken
words :

" How dare ye come here ; how dare ye ? "

" I wondher," says Father Cassidy to himself, look-
[91]

HOW THE FAIRIES CAME TO IRELAND

ing up at the black hill, " if the Good People are
fallen angels, as some do be saying.

" Why were they banished from heaven? It must
have been a great sin entirely they committed, at any
rate, for at the same time they were banished the
power to make a prayer was taken from them. That's
why to say a pious word to a fairy is like trowing
scalding wather on him. 'Tis a hard pinnance that's
put on the poor crachures. I wisht I knew what 'twas
for," he says.

He was goin' on pondherin' in that way, while Ter-
ror was picking his steps, narvous, among the stones
of the road, whin suddenly a frowning, ugly rock
seemed to jump up and stand ferninst them at a turn
of the path.

Terror shied at it, stumbled wild, and thin the most
aggrewating of all bothersome things happened —
the horse cast a shoe and wint stone lame.

In a second the priest had leaped to the ground and
picked up the horseshoe.

" Wirra ! Wirra ! " says he, lifting the lame foot,
'' why did you do it, alannah ? 'Tis five miles to a
smith an' seven miles to your own warm stable."

The horse, for answer, raiched down an' touched
[92]

HOW THE FAIRIES CAME TO IRELAND

with his soft nose the priest's cheek; but the good
man looked raproachful into the big brown eyes that
turned sorrowful to his own.

With the shoe in his hand the priest was standin'
fretting and helpless on the lonesome hillside, won-
dhering what he'd do at all at all, whin a sudden
voice spoke up from somewhere near Terror's knees.

" The top of the avinin' to your Riverence," it
said ; " I'm sorry for your bad luck," says the voice.

Looking down, Father Cassidy saw a little cloaked
figure, and caught the glint of a goold crown. 'Twas
Brian Connors, the King of the Fairies, himself, that
was in it.

His words had so friendly a ring in them that the
clargyman smiled in answering, " Wliy, thin, good
fortune to you. King Brian Connors ! " says the good
man, " an' save you kindly. What wind brought
you here.? " he says.

The King spoke back free an' pleasant. " The
boys tould me you were comin' down the mountainy
way, and I came up just in time to see your misfort-
une. I've sent for Shaun Rhue, our own farrier —
there's no betther in Ireland; he'll be here in a min-
ute, so don't worry," says the King.
[93]

HOW THE FAIRIES CAME TO IRELAND

The priest came so near saying " God bless ye ! "
that the King's hair riz on his head. But Father
Cassidy stopped in the nick of time, changed his
coorse, an' steered as near a blessing as he could with-
out hurting the Master of the Good People.

" Well, may you never hear of throuble," he says,
" till you're wanted to its wake," says he.

" There's no throuble to-night at any rate," says
the King, " for while Shaun is fixing the baste we'll
sit in the shelter of that rock yonder ; there we'll light
our pipes and divart our minds with pleasant dis-
coorsin' and wise convarsaytion."

While the King spoke, two green-cloaked little men
were making a fire for the smith out of twigs. So
quick did they work, that by the time the priest and
the fairy-man could walk over to the stone and sit
themselves in the shelther, a thousand goold sparks
were dancin' in the wind, and the glimmer of a foine
blaze fought with the darkness.

Almost as soon, clear and purty, rang the cheerful
sound of an anvil, and through the swaying shadows
a dozen busy little figures were working about the
horse. Some wore leather aprons and hilt up the
horse's hoof whilst Shaun fitted the red-hot shoe;
[94]

HOW THE FAIRIES CAME TO IRELAND

others blew the bellows or piled fresh sticks on the
fire; all joking, laughing, singing, or thrickin'; one
couldn't tell whether 'twas playing or workin' they
were.

Afther lighting their pipes and paying aich other
an armful of complayments, the Master of Sleive-na-
mon and the clargyman began a saryous discoorse
about the deloights of fox-hunting, which led to the
considheration of the wondherful wisdom of racing
horses and the disgraceful day-ter-ray-roaration of
the Skibberbeg hounds.

Father Cassidy related how whin Ned Blaze's
steeplcchasin' horse had been entered for the Conne-
mara Cup, an' found out at the last minute that Ned
feared to lay a bet on him, the horse felt himself so
stabbed to the heart with shame by his master's dis-
thrust that he trew his jockey, jumped the wall, an',
head in the air, galloped home.

The King then tould how at a great hunting meet,
whin three magisthrates an' two head excises officers
were in the chase, that thief of the worruld, Let-Erin-
Ray mimber, the chief hound of the Skibberbeg pack,
instead of follying the fox, led the whole hunt up
over the mountain to Patrick McCaffrey's private
[95]

HOW THE FAIRIES CAME TO IRELAND

still. The entire counthry-side were dhry for a fort-
nit afther.

Their talk in that way dhrifted from one pleasant
subject to another, till Father Cassidy, the sly man,
says aisy an' careless, " I've been tould," says he,
" that before the Good People were banished from
heaven yez were all angels," he says.

The King blew a long thin cloud from betwixt his
lips, felt his whuskers thoughtful for a minute, and
then said:

" No," he says, " we were not exactly what you
might call angels. A rale angel is taller nor your
chapel."

" Will you tell me what they're like.? " axed Father
Cassidy, very curious.

" I'll give you an idee be comparison what they're
like," the King says. " They're not like a chapel,
and they're not like a three, an' they're not like the
ocean," says he. " They're different from a goint
— a great dale different — and they're dissembler to
an aygle ; in fact, you'd not mistake one of them for
anything you'd ever seen before in your whole life.
Now you have a purty good ideeah what they're like,"
says he.

[96]

HOW THE FAIRIES CAME TO 1 E E L A N D

" While I think of it," says the fairy-man, a vexed
frown wrinkling over his forehead, " there's three
young bachelors in your own parish that have a fool-
ish habit of callin' their colleens angels whin they's
not the laste likeness — not the laste. If I were you,
I'd preach agin it," says he.

" Oh, I dunno about that ! " says Father Cassidy,
fitting a live coal on his pipe. " The crachures must
say thim things. If a young bachelor only talks sen-
sible to a sensible colleen he has a good chanst to stay
a bachelor. An thin agin, a gossoon who'll talk to
his sweetheart about the size of the petatie crop'll
maybe bate her whin they're both married. But this
has nothing to do with your historical obserwaytions.
Go on, King," he says.

" Well, I hate foolishness, wherever it is," says the
fairy. " Howsumever, as I was saying, up there in
heaven they called us the Little People," he says;
" millions of us flocked together, and I was the King
of them all. We were happy with one another as birds
of the same nest, till th«» ruction came on betwixt the
black and the white angels.

" How it all started I never rightly knew, nor
wouldn't ask for fear of getting implicayted. I bade
[97]

HOW THE FAIEIES CAME TO IRELAND

all the Little People keep to themselves thin, because
we had plenty of friends in both parties, and wanted
throuble with nayther of them.

" I knew Ould Nick well ; a civiller, pleasanter
spoken sowl you couldn't wish to meet — a little too
sweet in his ways, maybe. He gave a thousand fa-
vours and civilities to my subjects, and now that he's
down, the devil a word I'll say agin him."

" I'm agin him," says Father Cassidy, looking very
stern ; " I'm agin him an' all his pumps an' worruks.
I'll go bail that in the ind he hurt yez more than he
helped yez ! "

" Only one thing I blame him for," says the King ;
" he sajooced from the Little People my comrade and
best friend, one Thaddeus Flynn be name. And the
way that it was, was this: Thaddeus was a warm-
hearted little man, but monsthrous high-spirited as
well as quick-tempered. I can shut me eyes now and
in me mind see him thripping along, his head bent,
his pipe in his mouth, his hands behind his back. He
never wore a waistcoat, but kept always his green
body-coat buttoned. A tall caubeen was set on the
back of his head, with a sprig of green shamrock in
[98]

HOW THE FAIEIES CAME TO IRELAND

the band. There was a thin rim of black whuskers
undher his chin."

Father Cassidy, liftin' both hands in wondher,
said : " If I hadn't baptised him, and buried his good
father before him, I'd swear 'twas Michael Pether
McGilligan of this parish you were dayscribin',"
says he.

" The McGilligans ain't dacint enough, nor ray-
fined enough, nor proud enough to be fairies," says
the King, wavin' his pipe scornful. " But to ray-
sume and to continue," he says.

" Thaddeus and I used to frayquint a place they
called the battlements or parypets — ^which was a great
goold wall about the edge of heaven, and which had
wide steps down on the outside face, where one could
sit pleasant avenings and hang his feet over, or where
one'd stand before going to take a fly in the fresh
air for himself.

" Well, agra, the night before the great battle
Thady and I were sitting on the lowest step, looking
down into league upon league of nothing, and talking
about the world, which was suxty thousand miles be-
low, and hell, which was tunty thousand miles below
that agin, when who should come blusthering over us,
[99]

HOW THE FAIRIES CAME TO IRELAND

his black wings hiding the sky, and a long streak of
lightning for a spear in his fist, but Ould Nick.

" ' Brian Connors, how long are you going to be
down-throdden and thrajooced and looked down upon
- — you and your subjects? ' saj^s he.

" ' Faix, thin, who's doing that to us ? ' asks Thady ,
standing up and growing excited.

" ' Why,' says Ould Nick, ' were you made little
pigmies to be the laugh and the scorn and the mock
of the whole world ? ' he says, very mad ; ' why weren't
you made into angels, like the rest of us ? ' he says.

" ' Musha,' cries Thady, ' I never thought of that.'

" ' Are you a man or a mouse ; will you fight for
your rights? ' says Sattin. ' If so, come with me and
be one of us. For we'll bate them black and blue to-
morrow ! ' he says. Thady needed no second axing.

" ' I'll go with ye, Sattin, me dacent man,' cried he.
* Wirra ! Wirra ! To think of how down-throdden
we are ! ' And with one spring Thady was on Ould
Nick's chowlders, and the two flew away like a hum-
ming-bird riding on the back of an aygle.

" ' Take care of yerself , Brian,' says Thady, * and
come over to see the fight ; I'm to be in it, and I ex-
tind you the inwitation,' he says.
[100]

HOW THE FAIRIES CAME TO IRELAND

" In the morning the battle opened ; one line of
black angels stretched clear across heaven, and faced
another line of white angels, with a walley between.

" Everyone had a spaking-trumpet in his hand,
like you see in the pictures, and they called aich other
hard names across the walley. As the white angels
couldn't swear or use bad langwidge, Ould Nick's
army had at first in that way a great advantage. But
when it came to hurling hills and shying tunderbolts
at aich other the black angels were bate from the first.

" Poor little Thaddeus Flynn stood amongst his
own, in the dust and the crash and the roar, brave as
a lion. He couldn't hurl mountains, nor was he much
at flinging lightning bolts, but at calling hard names
he was aquil to the best.

" I saw him take off his coat, trow it on the ground,
and shake his pipe at a thraymendous angel. ' You
owdacious villain,' he cried, ' I dare you to come half
way over ! ' he says.

" My, oh, my, whin the armies met together in the
rale handy grips, it must have been an illegent
sight ! " says Father Cassidy. " 'Tis a wondher you
kep' out of it," says he.

" I always belayved," says the King, " that if he
[101]

HOW THE F A I R I E S CAME TO IRELAND

can help it, no one should fight whin he's sure to get
hurted, onless it's his juty to fight. To fight for the
mere sport of it, when a throuncin' is sartin, is wast-
ing your time and hurtin' your repitation. I know
there's plenty thinks different," he says, p'inting his
pipe. " I may be wrong, an' I won't argyfy the mat-
ther. 'Twould have been betther for myself that day
if I had acted on the other principle.

" Howsumever, be the time that everybody was
sidestepping mountains and dodging tunderbolts, I
says to myself, says I, ' This is no place fer you or
the likes of you.' So I took all me own people out
to the battlements and hid them out of the way on
the lower steps. We'd no sooner got placed whin —
whish! a black angel shot through the air over our
heads, and began falling down, down, down, and
down, till he was out of sight. Then a score of his
friends came tumbling over the battlements ; imagetly
hundreds of others came whirling, and purty soon it
was raining black wings down into the gulf.

" In the midst of the turmile who should come
jumping down to me, all out of breath, but Thady.

" ' It's all over, Brian ; we're bate scandalous,' he
says, swinging his arms for a spring, and balancing
[ 102 ]

HOW THE FAIRIES CAME TO IRELAND

himself up and down on the edge of the steps.
' Maybe you wouldn't think it of me, Brian Connors,
but I'm a fallen angel,' says he.

" ' Wait a bit, Thaddeus Flynn ! ' says I. ' Don't
jump ! ' I says.

" ' I must jump,' he says, ' or I'll be trun,' says he.

" The next thing I knew he was swirling and dart-
ing and shooting a mile below me.

" And I know," says the King, wiping his eyes
with his cloak, " that when the Day of Judgment
comes I'll have at laste one friend waiting for me
below to show me the coolest spots and the pleasant
places.

" The next minute up came the white army with
presners — angels, black and white, who had taken no
side in the battle, but had stood apart like ourselves.

" ' A man,' says the Angel Gabriel, ' who, for fear
of his skin, won't stand for the right when the right
is in danger, may not desarve hell, but he's not fit for
heaven. Fill up the stars with these cowards and
throw the lavin's into the say ! ' he ordhered.

" With that he swung a lad in the air, and gave
him a fling that sent him ten miles out intil the sky.
Every other good angel follyed shuit, and I watched
[103]

HOW THE FAIRIES CAME TO IRELAND

thousands go, till they faded like a stretch of black
smoke a hundred miles below.

" The Angel Gabriel turned and saw me, and I
must confess I shivered.

" ' Well, King Brian Connors,' says he, ' I hope
you see that there's such a thing as being too wise
and too cute and too ticklish of yourself. I can't send
you to the stars, bekase they're full, and I won't send
you to the bottomless pit so long as I can help it.
I'll send yez all down to the world. We're going to
put human beans on it purty soon, though they're
going to turn out to be blaggards, and at last we'll
have to burn the place up. Afther that, if you're
still there, you and yours must go to purdition, for
it's the only place left for you.'

" 'You're too hard on the little man,' says the Angel
Michael, coming up — St. Michael was ever the out-
spoken, friendly person — ' sure, what harm, or what
hurt, or what good could he have done us.? And can
you blame the poor little crachures for not interf er-
ing? '

" ' Maybe I was too harsh,' says the Angel Gabriel,
' but being saints, when we say a thing we must stick
to it. Howsumever, I'll let him settle in any part of
[104]

HOW THE FAIRIES CAME TO IRELAND

the world he likes, and I'll send there the kind of
human beans he'd wish most for. Now, give your
ordher,' he says to me, taking out his book and pen-
cil, ' and I'll make for you the kind of people you'd
like to Uve among.'

" ' Well,' says I, ' I'd like the men honest and
brave, and the women good.'

" ' Very well,' he says, writing it down ; * I've got
that — go on.'

" ' And I'd like them full of jollity and sport, fond
of racing and singing and hunting and fighting, and
all such innocent divarsions.'

" ' You'U have no complaint about that,' says he.

" ' And,' says I, ' I'd like them poor and parse-
cuted, bekase when a man gets rich there's no more
fun in him.'

"'Yes, I'll fix that. Thrue for you,' says the
Angel Gabriel, writing.

" ' And I don't want them to be Christians,' says
I ; ' make them Haythens or Pagans, for Christians
are too much worried about the Day of Judgment.'

" * Stop there ! Say no more ! ' says the saint. ' If
I make as fine a race of people as that I won't send
them to hell to plaze you, Brian Connors.'
[106]

HOW THE FAIRIES CAME TO IRELAND

" ' At laste,' says I, ' make them Jews.'

" ' If I made them Jews,' he says, slowly screwing
up one eye to think, ' how could you keep them poor?
No, no ! ' he said, shutting up the book, ' go your
ways ; you have enough.'

" I clapped me hands, and all the Little People
stood up and bent over the edge, their fingers pointed
like swimmers going to dive. ' One, two, three,' I
shouted, and with that we took the leap.

" We were two years and tunty-six days falling be-
fore we raiched the world. On the morning of the
next day we began our sarch for a place to live. We
thravelled from north to south and from ayst to west.
Some grew tired and dhropped off in Spain, some in
France, and others agin in different parts of the
world. But the most of us thravelled ever and
ever till we came to a lovely island that glim-
mered and laughed and sparkled in the middle of the
say.

" ' We'll stop here,' I says ; ' we needn't sarch
farther, and we needn't go back to Italy or Swizzer-
land, for of all places on the earth this island is the
nearest like heaven; and in it the County Clare and
the County Tipperary are the purtiest spots of all.'
[106]

HOW THE FAIEIES CAME TO IRELAND

So we hollowed out the great mountain Sleive-na-mon
for our home, and there we are till this day."

The King stopped a while, and sat houldin' his
chin in his hands. " That's the thrue story," he says,
sighing pitiful. " We took sides with nobody, we
minded our own business, and we got trun out for it,"
says he.

So intherested was Father Cassidy in the talk of the
King that the singing and hammering had died out
without his knowing, and he hadn't noticed at all how
the darkness had thickened in the valley, and how the
stillness had spread over the hillside. But now, whin
the chief of the fairies stopped, the good man, half
frightened at the silence, jumped to his feet and
turned to look for his horse.

Beyond the dull glow of the dying fire a crowd of
Little People stood waiting, patient and quiet, hould-
ing Terror, who champed restless at his bit, and bate
impatient with his hoof on the hard ground.

As the priest looked toward them, two of the little
men wearing leather aprons moved out from the
others, leading the baste slow and careful over to
where the good man stood beside the rock.

" You've done me a faver this night," says the
[107]

HOW THE FAIRIES CAME TO IRELAND

clargyman, gripping with his bridle-hand the horse's
mane, " an' all I have to pay it back with'd only harry
you an' make you oncomfortable, so I'll not say the
words," he says.

" No faver at all," says the King, " but before an
hour there'll be lyin' on your own threshold a faver
in the shape of a bit of as fine bacon as ever laughed
happy in the middle of biling turnips. We borryed
it last night from a magisthrate named Blake, who
lives up in the County Wexford," he says.

The clargyman had swung himself into the sad-
dle.

" I'd be loathe to say anything disrayspectful," he
says quick, " or to hurt sensitive feelings, but on ac-
count of my soul's sake I couldn't ate anything that
was come by dishonest," he says.

" Bother and botheration, look at that, now ! " says
the King. " Every thrade has its drawbacks, but I
never rayalized before the hardship of being a parish
priest. Can't we manage it some way? Couldn't I
put it some place where you might find it, or give it
to a friend who'd send it to you ? "

" Stop a minute," says Father Cassidy. " Up at
Tom Healey's I think there's more hunger than sick-
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HOW THE FAIRIES CAME TO IRELAND

ness, more nade for petaties than for physic. Now,
if you send that same bit of bacon "

" Oh, ho ! " says the King, with a dhry cough, " the
Healeys have no sowls to save, the same as parish
priests have."

" I'm a poor, wake, miserable sinner," says the
priest, hanging his head ; " I fall at the first temp-
tation. Don't send it," says he.

" Since you forbid me, I'll send it," says the King,
chucklin'. "I'll not be ruled by you. To-morrow
the Healeys'll have ^\e tinder-hearted heads of cab-
bage, makin' love in a pot to the finest bit of bacon
in Tipperary — that is, unless you do your juty an'
ride back to warn them. Ray member their poor
sowls," says he, " an' don't forget your own," he
says.

The priest sat unaisy in the saddle. " I'll put all
the raysponsibility on Terror," he says. " The baste
has no sowl to lose. I'll just drop the reins on his
neck ; if he turns and goes back to Healey's I'll warn
them ; if he goes home let it be on his own conscience."

He dhropped the reins, and the dishonest baste
started for home Imagetly.

But afther a few steps Father Cassidy dhrew up
[109]

HOW THE FAIEIES CAME TO IRELAND

an' turned in the saddle. Not a sowl was in sight;
there was only the lonely road and the lonesome hill-
side ; the last glimmer of the fairy -fire was gone, and
a curtain of soft blackness had fallen betwixt him an'
where the blaze had been.

" I bid you good night, Brian Connors ! " the priest
cried. From somewhere out of the darkness a woice
called back to him, " Good night, your Riverence ! "

[110]

The Adventures of King Brian Connors

The Adventures of King Brian Connors

CHAPTER I

J AND THE OMA]

XJID your honour ever hear how Anthony Sullivan's
goat came to join the fairies?

Well, it's a quare story and a wandhering, quarrel-
some story, as a tale about a goat is sure to be.
Howsumever, in the home of the Good People — which,
as you know, is the hollow heart of the great moun-
tain Sleive-na-mon — Anthony Sullivan's goat lives
and prospers to this day, a pet and a hayro among
the fairies.

And this is the way it came about :

All the world knows how for months Darby O'Gill
an' his purty sister-in-law, Maureen McGibney, were
kept presners by the Good People; an' how, afther
* Omadhaun, a foolish fellow.

[113]

ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

they were relaysed by the King, that same little fairy,
King Brian Connors, used often to visit thim an' sit
with thim coUoguin' and debaytin' an' considherin'
in Darby O'Gill's kitchen.

One lonesome Decimber night, when Bridget and
the childher were away visiting Bridget's father at
Ballingher, and the angry blast was screaming and
dhrifting the first white flakes of winther around
Darby's house, thin it was that Darby O'Gill, Brian
Connors, the King of the Good People, and Maureen
McGibney sat with their heads together before the
blazing hearth. The King, being not much higher
than your two hands, sat on the child's stool betwixt
the other two, his green cloak flung back from his
chowlders, and the goold crown on his head glistening
in the firelight.

It was a pleasant sight to watch them there in the
flickering hearth glow. From time to time, as he
talked, the ould King patted Maureen's hands and
looked smiling up into her purty gray eyes. They
had been discoursing on the subject of Throubles and
Thribulations.

" Arrah ! You ought to be the happy man, King,"
Darby says, sipping his noggin of punch, " with no
[114]

ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

sillj woman to ordher you or to cross you or to belittle
you. Look at meself. Afther all the rayspect I've
climbed into from being with the fairies, and afther
all the knowledge I've got from them, there's one per-
son in this parish who has no more riverence for me
now than she had the first day she met me — sometimes
not so much, I'm thinking," he says, hurt-like.

" I've seen the workings of families during more
than five thousand years," says the little King, " so
you needn't tell me who that one person is, me poor
man — 'tis your own wife, Bridget."

" Thrue for you ! Whin it's the proud woman she
ought to be this day to have the likes of me for a hus-
band," says Darby. " Ah, then, you ought to be the
happy man, whatever wind blows," he sighed again;
" when you see a fat pig you like, you take it without
so much as saying by your lave ; if you come upon a
fine cow or a good horse, in a twinkling you have it
in Sleive-na-mon. A girl has a good song with her,
a boy has a nimble foot for a jig, or an ould woman
a smooth tongue for a tale, and, whisk ! they're gone
into the heart of the mountain to sing or dance for
you, or to beguile you with ould tales until the Day
of Judgment."

[115]

ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

The King shook his head slowly, and drew a long
face.

" Maybe we ought to be happy," says he. " 'Tis
thrue there's no sickness in Sleive-na-mon, nor worry
for to-morrow, nor fret for one's childher, nor part-
ing from friends, or things like that, but throuble is
like the dhrif ting snow outside, Darby ; it falls on the
cottage and it covers the castle with the same touch,
and once in a while it sifts into Sleive-na-mon."

" In the name of goodness ! " cries Darby, sur-
prised, " is there anything in the whole world you
can't have for the wishing it? "

The King took off his goold crown and began pol-
ishing it with his sleeve to hide his narvousness. " I'll
tell you a saycret," he whuspered, bending over tow-
ard Darby, and speaking slow. " In Sleive-na-mon
our hearts are just breaking for something we can't
get ; but that's one thing we'd give the worruld for."

" Oh, King, what in the livin' worruld can it be.'' "
cried Maureen.

" I'd give the teeth out of me head if I could only
own a goat," says the King, looking as though he
were going to cry.

" Man alive ! " says Darby, dhropping the poker,

[116]

ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

" the counthry-side is full of goats, and all you have
to do is to take your pick and help yourself. You're
making game of us, King."

The King shook his head. " The Good People have
been thrying for years to capture one," says he.
" I've been bunted into ditches by the villains ; I've
been trun over hedges by them ; I had to leap on the
back of Anthony Sullivan's goat, and with two hun-
dred of me subjects in full cry behind, ride him all
night long, houlding by his horns to kape him from
getting at me and disthroying me entirely. The
jumps he took with me that night were thraymendous.
It was from the cow-shed to the sthraw-stack, from the
sthraw-stack to the house-top, and from there down
to the ground agin, and then hooraying an' hooroo-
ing, a race up the mountain-side. But," says the
King, kind o' sniffling an' turning to the fire, " we
love the ground he walks upon," says he.

" Tare an' ouns ! " says Darby, " why don't you
put your spell on one of them ? "

" You don't know them," says the King. " We
can't put the black spell on thim — they're not Chris-
tian bastes, like pigs or cows. Whin it comes to ani-
mals, we can only put our come 'ither on cattle and
[117]

ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

horses, and such as are Christian animals, ye know.
In his mind and in his heart a goat is a pagen. He
wouldn't ask any betther divarsion than for me to
thry and lay me hands on him," says the King, wip-
ing his eyes.

" But," says he agin, standing up on the stool and
houlding his pipe over his head, " Anthony Sullivan's
goat is the gallusest baste that roams the fields!
There's more fun in him, and no more fear in him,
than in a yallow lion. He'd do anything for sport;
he'd bunt the King of Russia, he'd ba-a at a parish
priest, out of pure, rollicking divilment," says the
King. " If the Good People had a friend, a rale
friend," says he, looking hard at Darby, " that
wouldn't be afeard to go into our home within the
mountain once more, just once, and bring with him
that goat "

" Say no more," says Darby, hoarsely, and turn-
ing white with fear — " say no more, Brian Connors !
Not all the goold in Sleive-na-mon would tempt me
there agin! It's make a presner of me for ever you
would. I know your thricks."

The look of scorn the little man flung at Darby
would have withered the threes.
[118]

ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

" I might have known it," he says, sitting down
disgusted. " I was a fool for hoping you would,"
says he. " There's no more spirit in ye nor sinse of
gratichude than in a hin. Wait till! — " and he
shook his fist.

" Don't blame the lad," cried Maureen, patting the
King's head, sootheringly ; " sure, why should the like
of a wondherf ul man, such as you, who has lived five
thousand years, and knows everything, compare your
wit or your spirit or your sinse with the likes of us
poor crachures that only stay here a few hours and
thin are gone for ever ? " This she cried, craftily,
flatthering the ould man. " Be aisy on him. King,
acushla ! " says she, coaxing.

Well, the little man, being soothered, sat down
agin. " Maybe I was too hard," he says, " but to
tell the truth, the life is just bothered out of me, and
my temper is runed these days with an omadhaun
we've taken lately ; I don't know what to do with him.
Talk of throuble! He mopes and mourns and
moothers in spite of all we can do. I've even tould
him where the crocks of goold are hid "

" You haven't tould me that," cries Darby,
quickly.

[119]

ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

" No," says the King, looking at him sideways.

" At laste not yit," says Darby, looking sideways
at the King.

" Not yit, nor will I fer a long time yitter, you
covetous, ungrateful spalpeen ! " snapped the fairy.

" Well," said he, paying no more attention to
Darby, " this young omadhaun is six feet high in
his stockings, and as foine a looking lad as you'll see
in a day's walk. Now what do you think he's mourn-
ing and crooning for? "

" Faix, I dunno," answered Darby. " Maybe it's
a horse or a dog or a cow, or maybe a pair of pigs."

" You've not hit it," said the Ruler of the Good
People ; " it's a colleen. And him having a college
education, too."

" Troth, thin," said Darby, with a knowledgeable
wag of his head, " some of them larned students are
as foolish in that way as ignorant people. I once met
a tinker named Larry McManus, who knew the jog-
raphy from cover to cover, and still he had been mar-
ried three times."

"Poor gossoon! Who is the omadhaun.?" asked
Maureen, not minding Darby.

" He's no less," said the King, " than Roger
[120]

ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

O'Brien, a son of ould Bob O'Brien, who was the
richest and proudest man in the County Tipperary.
Ould Bob thraces his ancestors for five hundhred
years, and he owns a mile of land and has forty ten-
ants. He had no child but this omadhaun."

" And who is the colleen ? Some grand Princess,
I suppose," said Maureen.

" There was the whole throuble," answered the lit-
tle man. " Why, she's no one at all, but a little white-
cheeked, brown-eyed, black-haired girl named Norah
Costello, belonging to one of his own tenants on the
domain. It all came from eddicatin' people above
their station."

" Faix," Darby says, " there's Phelem Brady, the
stonecutter, a fine, dacint man he was till he made
up his mind to larn the history of Ireland from ind
to ind. When he got so far as where the Danes killed
Brian Boru he took to dhrink, and the divil a
ha'porth's good he's been ever since. But lade on
with your discoorse. King," says he, waving his nog-
gin of punch.

At this the King filled his pipe, Maureen threw
fresh turf on the fire, and the wind dhrew the sparks
dancing up the chimney. Now and thin while the
[121]

ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

King talked, some of the fairies outside rapped on the
window-panes and pressed their little faces against
the glass to smile and nod at those within, thin scur-
ried busily off agin intil the darkness. Once the wail
of a child rose above the cry of the storm, and Mau-
reen caught the flash of a white robe against the win-
dow-pane.

" It's a child we've taken this night from one Jude
Casey down in Mayo," says King Brian Connors.
" But fill my noggin with fresh punch, Maureen, and
dhraw closter till I tell you about the omadhaun."
And the Master of the Good People crossed his legs
and settled into telling the story, comfortable as com-
fortable could be.

" The way the throuble began was foine and inno-
cent as the day is long," said the King. " Five or six
years ago — it was on the day Roger was first sent to
college at Dublin — Misther and Misthress O'Brien,
mighty lonesome an' down-hearted, were dhriving
over the estate whin who should they spy standing,
modest and timid, at her own gate, but purty little
Norah Costello. Though the child was only fourteen
years old, Misthress O'Brien was so taken with her
wise, gentle ways that Norah next day was sint for

ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

to come up to the big house to spind an hour amusing
the Misthress. There was the rock they all split on.

Every day afther for a month the little girl went
visiting there. At the end of that time Misthress
O'Brien grew so fond of her that Norah was brought
to the big house to live. Ould Bob liked the little girl
monsthrous well, so they put fine clothes on her until
in a couple of years one couldn't tell her from a rale
lady, whether he met her in the house or at the cross-
road.

Only every Saturday night she'd put on a little
brown poplin dhress and go to her father's cottage,
and stay there helping her mother till Monday or
maybe Chewsday. ' For I mustn't get proud-hearted,'
she'd say, ' or lose the love I was born to, for who can
tell whin I'll need it,' says she.

" A wise girl," says Darby.

" A dear colleen," says Maureen.

" Well, every summer me brave Roger came home
from college, and the two rode together afther the
hounds, or sailed his boat or roved the woods, and the
longest summer days were too short entirely to suit
the both of them.

" Although she had a dozen young fellows courting
[123]

ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

her — some of them gentlemen's sons — the divil an eye
she had for anyone except Roger; and although he
might pick from twinty of the bluest-blooded ladies
in Ireland any daj^ he liked, Norah was his one de-
light.

" Every servant on the place knew how things were
going, but the ould man was so blind with pride that
he saw nothing at all ; stranger than all, the two chil-
dher believed that ould Bob guessed the way things
were with them an' was plazed with them. A worse
mistake was never made. He never dhramed that his
son Roger would think of any girl without a fortune
or a title.

" Misthress O'Brien must have known, but, being
tendher-hearted and loving and, like all women, a
trifle weak-minded, hoped, in spite of rayson, that her
husband would consint to let the childher marry.
Knowing ould Bob as she knew him, that was a wild
thought for Misthress O'Brien to have; for if ever
there was a stiff er, bittherer, prouder, more unforgiv-
ing, boistherous man I haven't seen him, and I've lived
five thousand years."

Darby, scowling mighty important, raised his hand.
'' Whist a bit," he says ; " you raymind me of the bal-
[124]

ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

lad about Lord Skipperbeg's lovely daughter and
the farmer's only son." Stretching his legs an' wag-
ging his head, he sang :

•* Her cheeks were like the lily white.
Her neck was like the rose."

" Oh, my ! oh, my ! " said the King, surprised, " was
her neck as red as that? "

" By no manes," said Darby. " I med a mistake ;
'twas this away :

•* Her neck was like the lily white.
Her cheeks were like the rose.
She quickly doffed her silk attire
And donned a yeoman's clothes.

*• * Rise up, rise up, my farmer'' s son.
Rise up thrue love,"* says she,
• We'll fly acrost the ragiru main
Unto Amer-i ' "

" Have done you're fooling, Darby," says Mau-
reen ; " you have the King bothered."

" I wisht you hadn't shtopped him, agra," says the
King. " I niver heard that song before, an' it prom-
ised well. I'm fond of love songs," he says.

" But the omadhaun," coaxed the colleen.
[125]

ADVENTURES OP KING BRIAN CONNORS

" I forgot where I was," the King says, scratching
his head. " But, spaking of ould Bob," he wint on,
" no one ever thought how evil and bitther he could
be, until his son, the foolish lad, a few days before
the ind of his schooling, wrote to the father that he
wanted to marry Norah whin he came home, and that
he would be home in a few days, he thought. He
was breaking the news aisy to the family, d'ye see !

" ' Whew ! Hullabaloo ! Out of the house with her
— the sly, conniving hussy ! ' shouted ould Bob, whin
he read the letter. ' Into the road with all we've
given her! Pull the roof off Costello's house and
dhrive off the place his whole brood of outraygeous
villians ! '

" So they packed Norah's boxes — faix, an' many
a fine dhress was in them, too — and bade her begone.
The Misthress slipped a bag of goold sovereigns with
a letther into one of the chests. Norah took the let-
ther, but she forbade them sending so much as a
handkerchief afther her.

" She wouldn't even ride in the coach that the Mis-
thress had waiting for her outside the grand gate;
and all alone, in her brown poplin dhress, she marched
down the gravel path, proud, like a queen going to be
[ 126 ]

ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

crowned. Nor did she turn her head when the ser-
vants called blessings af ther her ; but oh, asthore, her
face was marble white ; and whin she was on her way
down the lonely high-road how she cried !

" 'Twas a bitther time entirely, the night young
Roger came home, and, hearing of all this, rushed
up the stairs to face his father. What happened be-
twixt them there no one knows, only they never
passed aich other a friendly look nor gave one to
the other a pleasant word from that good hour to
this. •

" To make matthers worse, that same night young
Roger wint and axed Norah Costello to marry him.
But all the counthry-side knows how the girl rayfused
him, saying she wouldn't beggar and rune the man
she loved.

" Well, he took her at her word, but disbelieved
and mocked at the raysons she gave — the omad-
haun!

" He wasn't much good afther that, only for gal-
loping his horse over the counthry like a madman,
so I said to meself, says I, that we might as well take
him with us into the Sleive-na-mon. I gave the
ordhers, and there he is."

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ADVENTUEES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

" Oh, the poor lad ! " says Maureen ; " does ould
Bob suspect the boy is with the fairies ? "

"Not in the laste," says the King. "You know how
it is with us; whinever we take a person we lave one
of our own in his place, who looks and acts and talks
in a way that the presner's own mother can't tell ,the
differ. By-and-by the fairy sickens and purtends
to die, and has his wake and his burial. When the
funeral's over he comes back to us hale and spiling
for more sport. So the lad the O'Briens put into
their tomb was one of our own — Phadrig Oge be
name.

" Many a time Phadrig has taken the place of the
genthry and quality in every count}^ of Ireland, and
has been buried more than a hundhred times, but he
swears he never before had a dacinter funeral nor a
rattliner wake."

" And the girl ! " cried Maureen — " Norah, where
is she.?"

" Faith, that's strange, too," says the King. " She
was the first person ould Bob axed for afther the
funeral. He begged her to come back to them and
forgive him, and the poor girl went agin to live at
the big house."

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ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

" He'll get her another good husband yet," said
Darby.

" Oh, never ! " says Maureen, crying like a child.
" She'll die of a broken heart."

" I've seen in me time," says the King, " people
die from being pushed off houses, from falling in
wells, and every manner of death you can mention,
and I saw one ould woman die from ating too much
treacle," he says, " but never a person die from a
broken heart."

This he said to make Hght of what he had been
telling, because he saw by Maureen's face that she
was growing sick with pity. For Maureen was think-
ing of the black days when she herself was a presner
in Sleive-na-mon.

For an answer to the jest, the girl, with her clasped
hands held up to the King, moaned, " Oh, King,
King, lave the poor lad go ! lave him go. Take the
black spell off him and send him home. I beg you
lave him go ! "

" Don't bother him," says Darby ; " what right
have we to interfere with the Good People ? " Though
at the same time he took the pipe from his mouth and
looked kind of wistful at the little man.
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ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

But Maureen's tears only fell faster and faster.

" I can't do what you ask, avick," says the King,
very kindly. " That day I let you and Darby go
from us the power to free anyone was taken away
from me by my people. Now every fairy in
Sleive-na-mon must give his consent before the
spell can be taken away entirely from anyone;
and, well, you know they'll never consent to that,"
he says.

" But what I can do, I will do. I can lift the spell
from the omadhaun for one hour, and that hour must
be just before cock-crow."

"Is that the law now-f^" asked Darby, curiously.
Maureen was sobbing, so she couldn't* spake.

" It is," says the Master of the Good People.
" And to-night I'll sind our spy, Sheelah Maguire,
to Norah Costello with the message that if Norah has
love enough and courage enough in her heart to stand
alone at her thrue lover's grave in Kilmartin church-
yard, to-morrow night an hour before cock-crow,
she'll see him plain and talk with him. And let you
two be there," he says, " to know that I keep me
word."

At that he vanished and they saw him no more
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ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

that night, nor until two hours afther the next mid-
night, whin as they were tying the ould horse and
cart to the fence outside Kilmartin church, thin they
heard him singing. He was sitting on the wall, chant-
ing at the top of his woice a sthrange, wild song, and
houlding in his hand a silver-covered noggin. On a
fallen tombstone near by lay a white cloth, glimmer-
ing in the moonlight, and on the cloth was spread as
fine a supper as heart could wish.

So beside the white rows of silent tombs, under the
elm-trees and willows, they ate their fill, and Darby
would have ate more if close to them they hadn't heard
a long, deep sigh, and caught a glimpse of a tall man,
gliding like a shadow into the shadows that hung
around the O'Briens' family vault.

At the same time, standing on the top of the stile
which led into the graveyard, a woman's form was
seen wavering in the moonlight.

They watched her coming down the walk betwixt
the tombs, her hand on her breast, clutching tight
the cloak. Now and thin she'd stand, looking about
the while, and shivering in mortal terror at the cry
of the owls, and thin she'd flit on and be lost in the
shadows; and thin they'd see her run out into the
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ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

moonlight, where she'd wait agin, gathering courage.
At last she came to a strip of soft light before the
tomb she knew. Her strength failed her there, and
she went down on her knees.

Out of the darkness before her a low, pleading
woice called, " Norah ! Norah ! Don't be frightened,
acushla machree ! "

Slowly, slowly, with its arm spreaa, the dim shape
of a man glided out of the shadows. At the same
instant the girl rose and gave one cry, as she flung
herself on his breast. They could see him bending
over her, thin, pouring words like rain into her ears,
but what he said they couldn't hear — ^Darby thinks
he whuspered.

" I wondher, oh, I wondher what he's telling her
in this last hour ! " says Maureen.

" It's aisy to know that," says Darby ; " what
should he be telling her but where the crocks of goold
are hid."

" Don't be watching them, it ain't dacint," says the
King; " uncultayvation or unpoliteness is ojus; come
over here; I've a pack of cayrds. Darby," says he,
" and as y/e have nearly an hour to wait, I challenge
you to a game of forty-five."

[ 132 ] . »

ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

" Sure we may as well," says Darby. " What can't
be cured must be endured."

With that, me two bould ha3rroes sat. asthride the
fallen stone, and hammering the rock hard with their
knuckles, played the game. Maureen went and,
houlding on to the ivy, knelt at the church wall — it's
praying an' cryin', too, I think she was. Small blame
to her if she was. All through that hour she imagined
the wild promisings of the two poor crachures over
be the tomb, and this kept burning the heart out of
her.

Just as the first glow of gray broke behind the
hills the King stood up and said : " It's your game,
Darby, more be good luck than be good shooting;
'tis time to lave. You know if I'm caught out afther
cock-crow I lose all me spells for the day, and be-
sides I'm wisible to any mortal eye. I'm helpless
as a baby then. So I think I'll take the omadhaun
and go. The roosthers may crow now any minute,"
says he.

The omadhaun, although he couldn't hear, he felt
the charm dhrawing him. He trew a frightened look
at the east and held the girl closer. 'Twas their last
minute.

[133]

ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

" King! King! " says Maureen, running up, " if
I brought Sullivan's goat into Sleive-na-mon, would
ye swear to let me out safe agin? "

" Troth, I would indade, I swear be Ould Nick ! "
('Tis be him the Good People swear.) " I'll do that
same."

" Then let the omadhaun go home. Get the Good
People's consent and I'll bring you the goat," says
Maureen.

The King thrembled all over with anxiety and ex-
citement. " Why didn't you spake sooner ? I'm
afeard I haven't time to go to Sleive-na-mon and back
before cock-crow," he stutthered, " and at cock-crow,
if the lad was undher the say or in the stars, that
spell'd bring him to us, and then he could never agin
come out till the Day of Judgment. Howsumever,
I'll go and thry," he says, houlding tight on to his
crown with both hands ; and with thim words he van-
ished.

Be this and be that, it wasn't two minutes till he
was back and wid not a second to spare, ayther.

" Phadrig Oge wants Mrs. Nancy Clancy's nanny-
goat, too. Will ye bring the both of them, Maureen ? "
he screamed.

[134]

ADVENTHRES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

" You're dhriving a hard bargain, King," cried
Darby. " Don't promise him, Maureen."

" I will ! " cried she.

" Then it's a bargain!" the fairy shouted, jump-
ing to the top of a headstone. " We all consent,"
he says, waving the noggin.

He yelled to the omadhaun. " Go home, Roger
O'Brien! Go back to your father's house and live
your life out to its natural ind. The curse is lifted
from you, the black spell is spint and gone. Pick
up the girl, ye spalpeen; don't ye see she's faint-
ed.?"

When O'Brien looked up and saw the Master of the
Fairies he staggered like a man that had been sthruck
a powerful blow. Thin he caught up the girl in his
arms and ran with her down the gravelled path and
over the stile.

At that minute the sorest misfortune that can hap-
pen to one of the Good People came to pass. As the
lad left the churchyard every cock in the parish
crowed, and, tare and 'ounds! there on a tombstone,
caught by the cock-crow, stood the poor, frightened
little King! His goold crown was far back on his
head, and his green cloak was twisted behind his back.
[135]

ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

All the power for spells and charms was gone from
him until the next sunset.

" I'm runed entirely, Darby ! " he says. " Trow
your shawl about me, Maureen alannah, and carry me
in your arms, purtending I'm an infant. What'U
I do at all at all.^^ " says he, weakly.

Taking him at his word, Maureen wrapped the
King in her shawl, and carrying him in her arms to
the cart, laid him in the sthraw at the bottom, where
he curled up, still and frightened, till they were on
their way home.

[136]

CHAPTER II

THE COUPLE WITHOUT CHILDHER

Five miles down the road from Kilmartin church-
yard, and thin two miles across, lived Barney Casey
with Judy, his wife — known far and wide as the
Couple without Childher.

Some foolish people whuspered that this lack of
family was a punishment for an ould saycret crime.
But that saying was nonsense, for an honester couple
the sun didn't shine on. It was only a pinance sint
from Heaven as any other pinance is sint ; 'twas — like
poverty, sickness, or as being born a Connaught man
— just to keep them humble-hearted.

But, oh, it was the sore pinance !

Many an envious look they gave their neighbour,
Tom Mulligan, the one-legged ballad-maker, who
lived half a mile up the road, for, twelve purty, red-
haired innocents sported and fought before Tom's
door. The couple took to going through the fields
to avoid passing the house, for the sight of the chil-
dher gave them the heartache.
[137]

ADVENTURES OF KING BEIAN CONNORS

By-and-by the two began conniving how on-be-
knownst they might buy a child, or beg or even steal
one — ^they were that lonesome-hearted.

Howsumever, the plan at last they settled on was
for Judy to slip away to a far part — Mayo, I think
— where she would go through the alms-houses till
she found a gossoon that suited her. And they had
the cute plan laid by which it was to pass before the
neighbours as their own — a Casey of the Casey s.
" Lave it to me, Barney darling," said Judy, with
tears in her eyes, " and if the neighbours wondher
where I am, tell them I've gone to spind a few months
with my ould mother," says she.

Well, Judy stole off sly enough, and 'twas well intil
the cowld weather when Barney got word that she had
found a parf ect angel, that it was the picture of him-
self, and that she would be home in a few days.

With a mind like thistle-down he ran to Father
Scanlan to arrange for the christening. On his way
to the priest's house he inwited the first woman he
met, Ann Mulligan, the ballad-maker's wife, to be
godmother; he picked bashful Ted Murphy, the
bachelor, to be godfather; and on his way home he
was that excited and elayted that he also inwited big
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ADVENTUKES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

Mrs. Brophy, the proud woman, to be the boy's god-
mother, forgetting altogether there was sich a parson
in the world as Ann Mulligan. The next day the
neighbours made ready a great bonfire to celebrayte
the dispositions occasion.

But ochone! Midnight before the day of the
christening poor Judy came home with empty arms
and a breaking heart. The little lad had died sud-
denly and was buried. Maybe the Good People had
taken him — 'twas hard to tell which.

Tare and ages, there was the throuble! For two
hours the couple sat in their desolate kitchen hould-
ing hands and crying and bawling together till Bar-
ney could stand it no longer. Snatching his caubeen,
he fled from the coming disgrace and eggsposure out
into the fields, where he wandhered aimless till after
dawn, stamping his feet at times and wagging his
head, or shaking his fist at the stars.

At that same unlucky hour who should be joulting
in their cart along the high-road, two miles across,
on their way home from Kilmartin churchyard, but
our three hayroes, Maureen, the King, and Darby
O'GiU!

Their ould white horse bobbed up and down
[139]

ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

through the sticky morning fog, Darby and Mau-
reen shivering on the front sate. The Ruler of the
Fairies, Maureen's shawl folded about him, was lying
cuddled below in the sthraw. When they saw any-
one coming, the fairy-chief would climb into Mau-
reen's lap, and she'd hould him as though he were a
baby.

Small blame to him to be sour and sullen !

" Here I am," he says to himself, " his Majesty,
Brian Connors, King of all the Good People in Ire-
land, the Master of the Night Time, and having been
King for more than five thousand years, with more
power after sunset than the Emperor of Greeze or
the Grand Turkey of barbayrious parts — here am I,"
he says, " disguised as a baby, wrapped in a woman's
shawl, and depending for my safety on two simple
counthry people — " Then he groaned aloud, " Bad
luck to the day I first saw the omadhaun ! "

Those were the first words he spoke. But it wasn't
in the little man to stay long ill-natured. At the first
shebeen house that they found open Maureen bought
for liim a bottle of spirits, and this cheered him
greatly. The first dhrink warmed him, the second
softened him, the third put a chune to the ind of his
[140]

ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

tongue, and by the time they ralched Tom Grogan's
public-house, which was straight two miles across
from Barney Casey's, the liquor set him singing like
a nightingale.

Maureen and Darby slipped into Grogstn's for a
bit of warmth and a mouthful to ate, laving the Mas-
ter of Sleive-na-mon well wrapped up at the bottom
of the cart — his head on a sack of oats and his feet
against the cart-side — and as I said, him singing.

He had the finest, liftenest way for a ballad you
ever heard ! At the end of every verse he eleywated
the last word and hildt it high, and put a lonesome
wobble into his woice that would make you cry.

Peggy Collins, the tall, thieving ould beggar-
woman who used to wear the dirty red cloak, an'
looked like a sojer in it, was sleeping inside the
hedge as the cart came along; but when it stopped
she peeped out to see who had the good song with
him.

When she saw it was an infant not much longer
than your two hands, " God presarve us and save
us ! " she gasped, and began to say her prayers. The
King went on singing, clear and doleful and beau-
tiful, the ballad of Donnelly and Cooper.
[ Ul ]

ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

** Come all ye thrue-hom Irishmen wherever you may be^
1 hope you'll pay attintion and listen unto me-e-e^
And if you'll pay attintion the truth I will declare
How Donnelly fought Cooper on the Curragh of KildareJ**

Prayers were never from Peggy's heart, so as she
listened to the enthrancing song she turned from
praying to plotting.

" If I had that child," she says, " I could go from
fair to fair and from pathron to pathron, and his
singing'd fill my apron with silver."

The King turned to another ditty, and you'd think
he was a thrush.

" TheyHl kiss you^ they'll car-r-^ess ycm^'' he sang.
** They'll spind yowr money free^
But of all the towns in Ire-eland Kilkenny for me-e-e-eJ**

The gray-haired ould rascal, Peggy, by this was
creeping ever and ever till she raiched the cart. Up
then she popped, and the first thing me poor Captain
knew the shawl was slapped fast on his face, and two
long, thin arms were dragging him out over the
wheel. He thried to cry out, but the shawl choked
him, and scrambling and kicking did him no good.

Over the nearest stile bounced Peggy, and into the
nearest field she flew, her petticoat lifted, her white
[142]

ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

hair streaming, and her red cloak fluttering behind.
She crunched the chief man of the fairies undher her
left elbow, his head hanging behind, with as little
riverence as if, saving jour presence, he were a sthray
gander.

Well, your honour, Peggy ran till there wasn't
a breath in her before she slowed down to a walk, and
then she flung the King over her right chowldher, his
face on her back in that way some careless women
carry childher. This set his head free.

When he saw who it was had stolen him, oh, but
he was vexed; for all that he didn't say a word as
they went, but lay there on her collar-bone, bobbing
up and down, blinking his eyes, and thinking what
he should do to her. At last he quietly raiched over
with his teeth and took a bite at the back of her neck
that she felt to her toes. Wow ! Your honour should
have heard the screech Peggy let out of her!

Well, as she gave that screech she gave a jerk at
the King's legs, pulling him down. As he flopped
intil her arms he took a wisp of her hair with him.
For a second's time the spiteful little eyes in the ould
weazened face, looking up at her own from undher
the goold crown, froze her stiff* with terror, and then,
[143]

ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

giving a yell that was ten times louder than the first
screech, she flung his Majesty from her down upon
the hard ground. Leaping a ditch, she went gallop-
ing wildly across the meadow. The King fell flat on
his back with an unraysonable joult.

That wasn't the worst of his bad luck. If Peggy
had dhropped him at any other place in the field he
might have crawled off* into the ditch and hid till sun-
set, but oh, asthore, there not ten rods away, with
eyes bulging and mouth gaping, stood Barney Casey,
the Man without Childher!

Barney looked from the little bundle on the ground
to Peggy as she went skimming, like a big red bird,
over the low-lying morning fog. Through his sur-
prise a foine hope slowly dawned for him.

He said : " Good fortune folly you, and my bless-
ing rest on you wherever you go, Peggy Bawn, for
the throuble you've lifted this day; you've given me
a Moses in the bull rushers or a Pharyoah's daughter,
but I disremember which, God forgive me for forget-
ting my rayligion ! "

He stood for a minute slyly looking to the north
and the south and the ayst and the west. But what
he saw, when he turned to look again for the baby,
[ 144 ]

ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

would have made any other man than one in Barney
Casey's mind say his prayers and go on his way.

The baby was gone, but in its place was a little
ould man with a goold crown on his head, a silver-
covered noggin in his hand, and the most vexed ex-
pression in the world on his face, and he thralling a
shawl and throtting toward the ditch.

'Twas a hard fall for the Man without Childher,
and hard he took it.

When Barney was done with bad langwidge, he
says : " A second ago, me ould lad, you were, or you
purtended to be, an innocent child. Well, then, you'll
turn back again every hair and every look of you;
you'll be a smiling, harmless, purty baby agin, or I'll
know the rayson why," he says, gritting his teeth.

With that he crept over and scooped up the King.
There was the struggling and wiggling!

" Lave me down ! Lave me down ! You murthering
spalpeen ! " shouted the King, kicking vicious at Bar-
ney's chist. " I'm Brian Connors, the King of the
Good People, and I'll make you sup sorrow in tay-
cups for this ! " cries he.

Well, Casey, his lips shut tight and his eyes grim
and cowld, hildt in his two hands, out at arm's-length,
[ 145 ]

ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

the little man, who was kicking furious. For a min-
ute Barney studied him.

" I believe in my sowl," says the Man without Chil-
dher, mighty rayproachf ul, " you're only a fairy !
But if that's what you are, you must have charms
and spells. Now turn yourself into a purty, harm-
less infant this minute — have red hair, like the Mul-
ligan childher at that — or I'll break every bone in
your body ! "

There was blazing anger in the King's eye and
withering scorn in his woice.

" Ignorant man," he cried, " don't you know that
betwixt cock-crow in the morning and sunset the Good
People can work no spell or charm. If you don't
lave me down I'll have a mark on you and on all your
relay tions the world'll wondher at ! "

But the divil a bit frightened was Casey.

He started in to help the charm along as one would
thry to make a watch go. He shook the King slowly
from side to side, thin joggled him softly up and
down, mutthering earnestly betwixt his teeth, " Go
on, now, you little hay then, change this minute, you
scorpion of the world ; come, come, twisht yourself ! "

What the little King was saying all this time you
[146]

ADVENTURE SOF KING BRIAN CONNORS

must guess at, for I'm not bitther-tongued enough to
repayt it.

Seeing that not a hair changed for all his work,
Barney wrapped Maureen's shawl about the King and
started for home, saying : " Hould your whist ! It's
a child I must have to be baptised this day. It'll be
hard to manage, but I have a plan ! You came as a
child, and you'll be thrated as such — and look, if you
don't quit kicking me in the stomach, I'll strangle
you ! "

As you know, to say pious words to one of the
Good People is worse than cutting him with a knife,
to show him pious pictures is like burning him, but
to baptise a fairy is the most turrible punishment in
the whole worruld.

As they went along, the King argyed, besought and
threatened, but he talked to stone.

At last, although he had but the strength of a six-
year-old child, the Captain of the Good People
showed what high spirit was in him.

" Set me down, you thief," he says. " I challenge
you ! If you have a dhrop of your mother's blood in
you, set me ferninst you with sticks in our hands, so
we can fight it out like men ! "
[147]

ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

" No, it's not needful," says Barney, cool as ice ;
" but in a few minutes I'll shave every hair from
your head, and afther that make a fine Christian out
of you. It's glad and thankful for it you ought to
be, you wicious, ugly little pagan scoundhrel ! "

Well, the King let a roar out of him : " You
bandy-legged villain ! " he cried — and then whirled
in to abuse the Man without Childher. He insulted
him in English, he jeered him in Irish, he thrajooced
him in Latin and Roosian, but the most awful crash
of blaggarding that was known in Ireland since the
world began was when the King used the Chi-
nayse.

Casey looked wonder and admiraytion, but made
no answer till the little man was out of breath, when
he spoke up like a judge.

" Well, if there's any crather within the earth's
four corners that needs baptising it's you, little man.
But I'll not thrajooce you any more, for ^^ou're me
own little Romulus or Raymus," he says, scratching
his head. Then of a sudden he broke out excitedly,
" Now may four kinds of bad luck fall on your proud
head this day, Mrs. Brophy, and four times heavier
ones on you, Ann Mulligan, and may the curse of
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ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

Cromwell light on you now and for ever, Ted Mur-
phy, the bachelor, for pushing yerselves here at this
early hour in the morning ! "

For the sight that met his eyes knocked every plan
out of his head.

Long before the time she was expected, sailing
down the road to his own house, happy and slow, came
Ann Mulligan, carrying in her arms her two-weeks-
old baby. Patsy Mulligan. With motion like a two-
masted schooner, tacking in her pride from side to
side, up the road came big Mrs. Brophy, the proud
woman, carrying her little Cornaylius; behind Mrs.
Brophy marched bashful Ted Murphy, the bachelor,
his hands behind his back, his head bent like a captive,
but stepping high. Not with the sheep-stealing air
men are used to wear at christenings and weddings
did Ted Murphy hop along, but with the look on his
face of a man who had just been thried, convicted,
sentenced, and who expects in few minutes to be hung
for sheep-stealing.

They were come an hour before the time to bring
the child to the church.

Beside the door stood Judy, straining her eyes to
know what Barney had hiding in the bundle, and with
[ 149 ]

ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

an awful fear in her heart that he had robbed some
near neighbour's cradle.

Well, Barney at once broke into a run so as to get
inside the house with the King, and to close the door
before the others got there, but as luck would have
it, the whole party met upon the threshold and
crowded in with him.

" Oh, the little darling ; give us a sight of the poor
crachure," says Mrs. Mulhgan, laying Patsy on the
bed.

" He's mine first, if you plaze,'* says Mrs. Brophy,
the proud woman.

" He's sick," says Barney — " too sick to be un-
covered."

" Is he too sick to go to church.? " broke in Ted
Murphy, eagerly, hoping to get rid of his job.

" He is," says Barney, catching at a chance for
delay.

" Then," says Ted, with joy in his woice, " I'll
run and bring Father Scanlan to the house. I'll be
back with him in tunty minutes," says he.

Before anyone could stop the gawk, he was flying
down the road to the village. Casey felt his bundle
shiver.

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ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

" I'll have your life's blood for this ! " the King
whuspered, as Barney laid him on the bed betwixt
the two childher.

" Come out ! come out ! " cries Casey, spreading his
arms and pushing the three women over the threshold
before they knew it.

Then he stood outside, holding the door shut
against the three women, thrying to think of a plan,
and listening to more blisthering talk than he ever
heard on any day before that day, for the three
women talked at the same time, aich striving to be
more disagreeable than the other. What dhrove him
crazy was that his own wife, Judy, was the worst.
They threatened him, they wheedled, and they
stormed. The priest might ride up at any minute.
The sweat rained from Barney's forehead.

Once in desperaytion he opened the door to let the
women pass, but shut it quick agin whin he saw the
King standin' up on the bed and him changing his
own clothes for those of little Patsy Mulligan.

Well, the women coaxed till Mrs. Mulligan lost

all patience and went and sat sullen on the bench. At

that Mrs. Brophy suddenly caught Barney around

the waist, and whirling him aside, she and Judy

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ADVENTURES 0 1" KING BRIAN CONNORS

rushed in. Barney, with the fierceness of a tiger,
swung shut the door to keep Mrs. Mulligan at bay.

The other women inside were hopping with joy.
Dhressed in Maureen's shawl, but divil a thing else,
lay on the outside edge of the bed poor little Patsy
Mulligan. The King, almost smothered, dhressed in
Patsy's clothes, was scrooged in to the wall with a
cloth about his head wrapped round and round.

" Oh, the little jewel," says Mrs. Brophy, picking
up little Patsy Mulligan, and setting herself on the
bed ; " he's the dead cut of his father."

In that quare way women have Judy already had
half a feeling that the child by some kind of magic
was her own. So she spoke up sharp and said that
the child was the image of her brother Mike.

While they were disputing, Mrs. Brophy turned
her head and saw the legs of the King below the edge
of little Patsy's dhress — the dhress that he'd stole an'
put on.

" For the love of God, Mrs. Casey ! " says she, lay-
ing her hand on Judy's chowlder, " did you ever be-
fore see feet on a child of two weeks old like them
on Patsy Mulligan ? "

Well, at this they laughed and titthered and
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doubled backward and forward on the bed, sniggering
at the King and saying funny things about him, till,
mad with the shame of the women looking at his bare
knees, and stung be the provoking things they said,
he did a very foolish thing ; — he took a pin from his
clothes and gave Mrs. Brophy so cruel a prod that,
big as she was, and proud as she was, it lifted her
in three leaps across the floor. " Whoop ! whoop ! "
she says, as she was going. Now, though heavy and
haughty, Mrs. Brophy was purty nimble on her feet,
for, red and indignant, she whirled in a twinkling.
" Judy Casey," says she, glowering and squaring off,
" if that's your ideeah of a good, funny joke, I'll
taiche you a betther ! " she says.

When Barne}', outside listening with his heart in
his mouth, heard the angry woices within, a great
wakeness came into his chist, for he thought every-
thing was over. Mrs. Mulligan pushed past him —
he lost the power to prevent her — and he follyed her
into the house with quaking knees. There was the
uproar !

While the three was persuading the furious Mrs.
Brophy that it must have been a pin in the bed-
clothes, Ted Murphy, breathless, flung open the door.
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ADVENTURES OF KING BEIAN CONNORS

" Father Scanlan wants to know," he cried, " what
ails the baby that jou can't bring it to church," he
says.

All turned questioning eyes to Barney, till his
mind flutthered like a wounded parthridge. Only two
disayses could the unfortunate man on the suddint
raymember.

" It's half maysles and a thrifle of scarlet f aver,"
he says. He couldn't aisily have said anything
worse. Seeing a turrible look on Mrs. Mulligan's
face, he says agin, " But I don't think it's ketching,
ma'am."

The fright was on. With a great cry, Mrs. Brophy
dived for and picked up little Cornaylius and rushed
with him out of the door and down the road; Mrs.
Mulligan, thinking she had little Patsy, bekase of
the clothes, snatched up the King — his head still
rowled in the cloth — and darted up the road. She
was clucking curses like an angry hen as she went,
and hugging the King and coddling him, and cry-
ing over him and saying foolish baby langwidge, till
he was so disgusted that he daytermined to give her
a shock.

" Oh, me poor little darling ! " she sobbed, press-
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ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

ing the King's head to her bosom — " oh, Patsy, me
jewel, have they kilt you entirely? "

At that the King spoke up in a clear, cowld woice.

Misdoubting her ears, Mrs. Mulligan stopped and
bent her head, listening to her baby.

" Don't worry for me, ma'am, thank you kindly,"
says the baby, polite and sthrong. " Don't throuble
yourself about the general state of my robustness," it
says, " it's thraymendous," says the child — " in fact,
I never was betther."

As cautiously as if she was unwrapping a rowl of
butther Mrs. Mulligan began to unwind the cloth
from about the King's head.

When this was done she flung up her face an'
yelled, " Ow ! ow ! ow ! " and then came right up from
the ground the second hard joult the King got that
day.

As he lay on his back fastening his strange clothes
and thinking what he would do next, he could hear
Mrs. Mulligan going down the road. She was mak-
ing a noise something like a steam whustle.

" Be-gorr," says the King, sitting up and feeling
of his back, " to-day, with the women, I'm playing
the divil entirely ! "

[155]

CHAPTER III

THE LrCK OF THE MULLIGANS

The wee King of the Fairies sat in the dust of the
road where Ann Mulligan had dhropped him. There
were dents in his goold crown, and the baby's dhress
he still wore was soiled and tore.

Ow! Ow! Ow! What a terrible joult agin the
ground Ann Mulligan gave him when she took the
covering from his head and found his own face gaz-
ing up at her instead of her baby Patsy's. He turned
to shake his fist up the road, and twishted once more
to shake his fist down the road.

" Be the bones of Pether White," he says, " what
me and me subjects'U do to-night to this parish'll
make the big wind seem like a cock's breath ! "

" But," he says, again, " how'll I hide meself till
dark? Wirra! Wirra! if it were only sunset — the
sun has melted every power and charm and spell out
of me — the power has left my four bones. I can be
seen and molested by any spalpeen that comes along;
what'll I do at all at all ! I think I had best be get-
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ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

ting through the fields back to Barney Casey's. It's
little welcome they have for me there, but they must
keep me saycret now for their own sakes."

With that he got upon his legs, and houldin' up
his white dhress, climbed through the stile into Casey's
field.

The first thing he saw there was a thin but jolly-
minded looking pig, pushing up roots with her nose
and tossing them into the air through sheer divilment.

Dark-eyed Susan was she called, and she belonged
to Tom Mulligan, the one-legged ballad-maker, who
had named her after the famous ballad.

Mulligan was too tindher-hearted to sell her to be
kilt, and too poor to keep her in victuals, so she
roamed the fields, a shameless marauder and a nimble-
footed freebooter.

" Be-gorr, here's luck ! " said the little King ;
" since 'tis in Casey's field, this must be Casey's baste.
I couldn't ask betther; whinever a pig is frightened
it runs to its own house; so I'll just get on her back
and ride down to Casey's cabin."

The King looked inquirin' at Susan, and Susan
looked impident suspicion at the King.

" Oh, ho, ye beauty, you know what's in me mind ! "
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ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

sajs he, whistlin and coaxin' and sidlin' up to her.
A pig Hkes a compliment if it's well tould, so Susan
hung her head, grunted coquettish, and looked away.
Taking adwantage of her head being turned, without
another word, his Rile Highness ran over, laid hould
of her ear, and with one graceful jump took an aisj
saddle-sate on her back.

This was the last thing the pig expected, so with
one frightened squeal from Susan both of them were
off like the wind through the fields toward Mulligan's
house, taking stones, ridges, and ditches like hurdle
jumpers till they came in sight of a mud-plasthered
cabin which stood on the hillside. A second afther
the King's hair stood straight up and his heart grew
cowld, for there, sitting on the thrashold, with her
family in a little crowd about her, was the woman who,
misconsthruing him for her own child, had fled with
him from Barney Casey's, and, finding her mistake,
had trun him into the high-road.

About the ballad-maker's door was gathered his
whole family, listening to the wondherful tale being
tould by Ann Mulligan. A frightened woman she
was.

Indade, whin Ann Mulligan, afther dhropping the
[158]

ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

King in the road, raiched home she fell unconscionable
in the door before her husband and her frightened
childher, an' she never come to till little Pether sprin-
kled a noggin of wather on her ; thin she opened her
eyes and began telling how Ould Nick had stole the
baby and had taken little Patsy's place in her own
two arms.

There she sat wringing her hands and waving back
and forth. The fairy-man could aisily guess the
story she was telling, and his flying steed was hurry-
ing straight toward the house and nothing could stop
it. They'd both be there in tin seconds.

" Well, this time, anyhow, I'll be kilt intirely," says
the King.

Mrs. Mulligan turned to pint down the road to
the place where she had dhropped the King, when,
lo and behold, up the boreen and through the field
they saw, coming at a thraymendous pace. Dark-
eyed Susan and the King, riding her like a dhra-
goon.

Mrs. Mulligan gave one screech and, lifting her
petticoats, flew; the childher scurried off afther her
like young rabbits.

Tom, not being able to run bekase of his wooden
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ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

leg, stood his ground, but at the same time raymem-
bering more prayers an' raypentin' of more mane
things he'd done than ever before since he was
born.

He was sure it was Ould Nick himself that was in it.

And now a new danger jumped suddenly before
the King. The pig headed for her favourite hole
through the hedge, and whin the King saw the size
of the hole he let a howl out of him, for he knew he'd
be trun. He scrooched close to the haste's back and
dhrew up his legs. Sure enough he was slithered off
her back and left sitting on the hard ground, half the
clothes torn from his rile back.

That howl finished Tom entirely, so that whin his
Majesty crawled through the hole afther the pig and
came over to him, the ballad-maker wouldn't have
given tuppence for his sowl's salvation. Howsumever,
he put on the best and friendliest face he could un-
dher the sarcumstances. Scraping with his wooden
leg and pulling at a tuft of carroty hair on his fore-
head, Tom said, mighty wheedling:

" The top o' the day to your Honour. Sure, how's
Mrs. Balzebub and the childher. I hear it's a fine,
bright family your Lordship has. Arrah, it isn't the
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ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

likes of me, poor Tom Mulligan, the ballad-maker,
that your riverence'd be wanting."

Hearing them words, the King looked mighty
plazed. " If you're Tom Mulligan, the ballad-
maker," he says, coming over smiling, " it's proud
and happy I am to meet you ! I'm no less than Brian
Connors, the King of the Good People," he says,
dhrawing himself up and trying to look grand.
" It's many's the fine ballad of yours we sing in Sleive-
na-mon."

" But little Patsy," stammered Tom ; " sure your
Majesty wouldn't take him from us; he's our twelfth
and rounds out the dozen, you know."

" Have no fear," says the fairy ; " Patsy'll be here
safe and sound at nightfall. If you stand friend to
me this day the divil a friend you'll ever need agin
as long as you live ! " With that the King up and
tould him all the day's happenin's and misfortunes.
Tom could hardly belave his eyes or his ears. He
was so happy he begun in his mind making a ballad
about himself and the King that minute.

" Ow ! " says the King, bending his back and hould-
ing his head, " whin I think of the ondacencies I wint
true this day ! "

[161]

ADVENTURES OF KING BUIAN CONNORS

" Your Majesty'!! go tlirougli no more," says Tom.
Witli tliat lie went stumping away to ca!! baclc tlie
wife and c!ii!dlier.

In a few minutes tlie ru!er of tlie niglit-time was
sitting on Mu!!igan's table ating the last petatie and
dhrinking the last sup of new milk that was in the
house. The King dhrained the cup an' smacked his
lips. " Now sing us a ballad, Tom Mulligan, my
lad," says he, leaning back against the empty milk-
crock and crossing his legs like a tailor. Ann Mulli-
gan nodded approvin' from where she sat, proud and
contented on the bed, the childher smiled up from the
mud floor. So Tom, who was a most maylodious man,
just as his wife was a most harmonious woman, up
and sang the ballad of Hugh Reynolds:

** Me name is Hugh Reynolds, I came of dacint parents ;
I wa^ born in County Cavin, as you may plainly see.
Be lovin' of a maid named Catherine McCahe,

My love has been bethrayed, she's a sore loss to me."

There's most of the time thirty-two varses to that
song, and Tom sang them all without skippin' a word.

" Bate that, King Brian Connors," he says at last.
" I challenge you ! "

r 162 ]

ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

Then King Brian trew back his head and, shutting
his eyes, sung another ballad of forty-seven varses,
which was Catherine McCabe's answer to Hugh Reyn-
olds, and which begins this away:

•* Come all ye purty fair maids wherever you may he.
And if you II pay attention and listen unto me,
ril tell of a desayver that you may beware of the same.
He comes from the town of Drumscullen in the County Cavan^
aiC Hugh Reynolds is his name.*^

One song brought out another finer than the first,
until the whole family, childher and all, jined in sing-
ing " Willie Reilly and His Dear Colleen Bawn."

'Twould make your heart young agin to hear them.
At the ind of aich varse all the MuUigans'd stop quick
to let the King wobble his woice alone. Dark-eyed
Susan was standing scratching herself inside the
closed door, plazed but wondherin'; so, with sweet
songs and ould tales, the hours flew like minutes till at
last the ballad-maker pushed back the table and
tuned his fiddle, while the whole family — at laste all
of them ould enough to stand — smiling, faced one
another for a dance.

The King chose Mrs. Ann Mulligan for a partner.
[163]

ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

The fiddle struck a note, the bare, nimble feet raised.
" Rocky Roads to Dublin " was the tune.

" DeedlSt deedhy dee ; deedle^ deedUy diddle um,
Deedle, deedle^ dee^ rochy roads to Dubalin.'"

The twinkling feet fell together. Smiles and laugh-
ter and jostling and jollity broke like a summer storm
through the room. And singing and pattherin' and
jiggering, rose and swirled to the mad music, till
suddenly — " knock, knock, knock ! " — the blows of a
whip-handle fell upon the door and every leg stopped
stiff.

" Murther in Irish," whispered little Mickey Mulli-
gan, " 'tis Father Scanlan himself that's in it ! "

Ochone mavrone ! what a change from merry-mak-
ing and happiness to fright and scandalation was
there! The Master of the Fairies, sure that Father
Scanlan had the scent of him, tried to climb up on to
the settle-bed, but was too wake from fear, so Mrs.
INIuUigan histed him and piled three childher on top
of the King to hide him just as Father Scanlan pushed
open the door.

The priest stood outside, houlding his horse with
one hand and pintin' his whip with the other.
[164]

ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

" What are you hiding on that bed, you vaga-
bone? " he says.

" Whist ! " says Tom MuUigan, hobblin' over and
going outside, with the fiddle undher his arrum, " 'tis
little Patsy, the baby, and he ain't dressed dacint
enough for your riverence to see," whuspered the
villain.

" Tom Mulligan," says the priest, shaking his
whip, " you're an idle, shiftless, thriftless man, and
a cryin' shame and a disgrace to my flock ; if you had
two legs I'd bate you within an inch of your life ! "
he says, lookin' stern at the fiddler.

" Faith, and it's sorry I am now for my other leg,"
says Tom, " for it's well I know that whin your riv-
erence scolds and berates a man you only give him
half a shilling or so, but if you bate him as well, your
riverence sometimes empties your pockets to him."

'Twas hard for the priest to keep an ill-natured
face, so he smiled; but as he did, without knowing
it, he let fly a shot that brought terror to the heart
of the ballad-maker.

" God help me with you and the likes of you," says
the priest, thrying to look savare ; " you keep me
from morning till night robbing Pether to pay Paul.
[165]

ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

Barney Casey, the honest man, gives me a crown for
baptising his child, and tin minutes afther I must
give that same money to a blaggard ! "

Well, whin MulHgan heard that his own Httle
Patsy had been baptised agin at the instigation of
that owdacious imposthure, Barney Casey, the bal-
lad-maker's neck swelled with rage. But worse was
to come. Gulping a great lump down his throat he
axed:

" What name did your riverence give the baby ? "

There was a thremble in the poor man's woice.

" Bonyface," says the priest, his toe in the stirrup.
" To-day is the feast of St. Bonyface, a gr-r-reat
bishop. He was a German man," says Father Scan-
Ian.

The groan Tom Mulligan let out of him was heart-
rendering. " Bonyface ! Oh, my poor little Patsy ;
bad scran to you, Barney Casey! My own child
turned into a German man — oh, Bonyface ! "

The priest was too busy mounting his horse to hear
what the ballad-maker said, but just before starting
the good man turned in his saddle.

" I came near forgetting my errant," he says.
*' There's a little ould man — dwarves they call the
[166]

ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

likes of thim — who has been lost from some thrav-
elling show or carawan, or was stole by ould Peggy
Collins this morning from some place — I don't rightly
know which. Sind the childher looking for him and
use him kind. I'm going up the road spreading the
news. Ignorant people might misthrate him," says
his riverence, moving off.

" You'll find no ignorant person up this road,"
called Tom, in a broken woice, " but Felix O'Shaugh-
nessy, and he's not so bad, only he don't belave in
ghosts," cried Mulligan.

Even as the ballad-maker turned to go in the door
the sun, shooting one red, angry look at the world,
dhropped below the western mountains. The King
jumped from the bed.

" The charms have come back to me. I feel in my
four bones the power, for 'tis sunset. I'm a greater
man now than any king on his trone," says he. " Do
you sind word to Barney and Judy Casey that if they
don't bring little Patsy and my green velvet cloak
and the silver-topped noggin and stand ferninst me
on this floor within half an hour, I'll have the both
of thim presners in Sleive-na-mon before midnight,
to walk on all- fours the rest of their lives. As for
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ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

you, my rajspected people," he says, " a pleasanter
afthernoon I seldom spint, and be ready to get your
reward."

With thim words he vanished. Their surprise at
his disappearance was no sooner over than the Mul-
ligans began hunting vessels in which to put the goold
the fairy was going to give them.

Ann Mulligan was dragging in from outside an
empty tub when shamefaced Judy Casey passed in,
carrying little Patsy Mulligan. Behind her slunk
Barney, her husband, houlding the green cloak and
the silver-topped noggin.

" I had him for one day, Ann Mulligan," says
Judy, handing little Patsy to his mother, " and
though it breaks my poor, withered heart to give him
up, he's yours by right, and here he is."

Whilst she was speaking those words the ruler
of the fairies sprung over the threshold and laid a
white bundle on the table. The household crowded
up close around.

Without a word the fairy dhrew the cover from
the white bundle, an' there, like a sweet, pink rose,
lay sleepin' on its white pillow the purtiest baby you
ever set your two livin' eyes on.
[168]

ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

Judy gave a great gasp, for it was the identical
child the fairies stole from her down in the County
Mayo.

" You don't desarve much from me," says the
King, " but because Ann Mulligan — ^fine woman —
asked it, I'll do you a favour. You may take back
the baby or I'll give you a hundhred pounds. Take
3 our choice, Barney Casey."

Barney stood a long time with bowed head, looking
at the child and thinking hard. You can surely see
what a saryous question he had. One's own child is
worth more than a hundred pounds, but other people's
childhren are plenty and full of failings. Mulligan's
family peered up into his face, and his wife Judy
sarched him with hungry eyes. At last he said, very
slow:

" My mind has changed," says he. " Though peo-
ple always tould me that childher were a throuble, a
worry and a care, yesterday I'd give the County Clare
for that little one. After this day's work I know that
sayin's thrue, so I'll take the hundhred pounds," he
says.

" Divil a fear of you taki'n' the hundhred pounds ! "
snapped his wife, Judy, grabbing up the child. An*
[169]

ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

thin the two women, turning on him, fell to abusin'
and ballyraggin' the Man without Childher, till sorra
bit of courage was left in his heart.

" I promised you yer choice, and they'll lave you
no choice," says the King, looking vexed. " Well,
here's the hundhred pounds, and let Judy keep the
child."

Whin the fairy turned to the ballad-maker the
hearts of all the Mulligans stopped still.

" Now, my grand fellow, me one-legged jaynious,"
he says, " you're goin' to be disappintcd. You think
I'll give you riches, but I won't." At that Tom's jaw
dhropped to his chist, and the littlest Mulligans be-
gan to cry.

" I'll not make you rich bekase you're a born bal-
lad-maker, and a weaver of fine tales, and a jaynious
— if you make a jaynious rich you take all the songs
out of him and you spile him. A man's heart-sthrings
must be often stretched almost to the breaking to get
good music from him. I'll not spile you, Tom Mul-
ligan.

" Besides," he says, " as you are a natural-born
ballad-maker, you'd kill yourself the first year thryin'
to spind all your money at wanst. But I'll do betther
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ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

for you than to make you rich. Ann MuUigan, do
you clear the table an' put my silver-topped noggin
on the edge of it," says he.

When Ann Mulligan did as she was bid the King
put the green cloak on his chowlders and, raising his
hand, pointed to the silver-covered noggin. Everyone
grew still and frightened.

"Noggin, noggin, where's 3^our manners?" he
says, very solemn.

At the last word the silver lid flew open, and out
of the cup hopped two little men dhressed all in black,
dhragging something afther them that began to grow
and grow amazing. So quickly did they work, and
so swiftly did this thing they brought twirl and
change and turn into different articles that the peo-
ple hadn't time to mark what form it was at first, only
they saw grow before their astonished eyes taycups
and dishes and great bowls, an' things like that.

In a minute the table was laid with a white cloth
like the quality have, and chiny dishes and knives and
forks.

" Noggin, noggin, where's your manners ? " says
the King again. The little men dhragged from the
noggin other things that grew into a roast of mutton

[ ni ]

ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

and biled turnips, and white bread an' butther, and
petaties, and pots of tay.

"Noggin, noggin, where's your manners?" says
the King, for the last time.

At that the little black men, afther puttin' a silver
shillin' beside every plate at the table, jumped into
the noggin an' pulled down its lid.

Whin the ating and drinking and jollity were at
their hoight the King arose, drew tight his crown on
his head, and pointing once more to the silver-covered
noggin, said:

" This is my gift to you and your reward, Tom
Mulligan, maker of ballads and journeyman worker
in fine tales. 'Tis more than your wish was. Nayther
you nor anyone who sits at your table, through all
your life, will ever want a bite to ate or a sup to
dhrink, nor yet a silver shilling to cheer him on his
way. Good luck to all here and good-bye ! " Even
as they looked at the King he was gone, vanished like
a light that's blown out — and they never saw him
more.

But the news spread. Musicianers, poets, and
story-tellers, and jayniouses flocked to the ballad-
maker's cabin from all over Ireland. Any fine day
[172]

ADVENTURES OF KING BRIAN CONNORS

in the year one might see them gather in a dozen
knots before his door and into as many httle crowds
about the stable. In each crowd, from morning till
night, there was a chune being played, a ballad sung,
or a story being tould. Always one could find there
blacksmiths, schoolmasters, and tinkers, and all trades,
but the greater number be far, av coorse, were beg-
garmen.

Nor is that same to be wondhered at, bekase every
jaynious, if he had his own way and could folly his
own heart's desire'd start to-morrow at daybreak with
the beggarman's staff and bag.

But wherever they came from, and whatever their
station, Tom Mulligan stumped on his wooden leg
from crowd to crowd, the jovial, happy master of
them all.

[173]

The Banshee's Comb

The Banshee's Comb

CHAPTER I

THE DIPLOMACY OF BRIDGET
I

TWAS the mendin' of clothes that All Sowls' af-
thernoon in Elizabeth Ann Egan's kitchen that nat-
urally brought up the subj ect of husbands an' the best
ways to manage them. An' if there's one thing more
than another that makes me take me hat oiF to the
women, 'tis the owdacious way the most down-throd-
den of their sex will brag about her blaggard hus-
band.

Not that ayther one or the other of the foive busy-
tongued and busy-fingered neighbour women who
bint above their sewing or knitting that afthernoon
were down-throdden ; be no manner of manes ; far, far
from it. They were so filled with ms^trimonial coiii-

THE BANSHEE S COMB

tintedness that they fairly thrampled down one an-
other to be first in praising the wondherful men of
their choice. Every woman proudly claimed to own
an' conthrol the handsomest, loikeliest man that ever
throd in brogues.

They talked so fast an' they talked so loud that
'twas a thryin' long while before meek-woiced little
Margit Doyle could squeege her husband, Dan'l John,
sideways into the argyment. An' even when she did
get him to the fore, the other women had appropry-
ated all the hayroic qualifications for their own men,
so that there was nothing left for Dan'l but the com-
mon lavings; an' that dayprivation nettled Margit
an' vexed her sore. But she took her chanst when
it came, poor as it was, an' boulted in.

Jabbing the air as though her needle were a dag-
ger, she broke into the discoorse.

" I wouldn't thrade my Dan for the King of
Rooshia or the Imperor of Chiney," says she, peering
dayfiant around the room. No one sided with that
ray mark, an' no one argyed agin it, an' this vexed her
the more.

" The Kingdom of Chiney is where the most sup-
harior tay comes from," says Caycelia Crow. She
[178]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

was a large, solemn woman, was Misthress Crow, an
a gr-r-reat histhorian.

" No," says Margit, scorning the intherruption,
" not if the two men were rowled into one," says she.

" Why," says Caycelia Crow, an' her deep woice
tolled like a passing bell — " why," says she, " should
any dacint woman be wantin' to marry one of thim
haythen Imperors ? Sure they're all ambiguious," she
says, looking around proud of the grand worrud.

Elizabeth Ann sthopped the spinning-wheel the
betther to listen, while the others turned bothered
faces to the histhorian.

" Ambiguious," says Misthress Crow, raisin' her
woice in the middle part of the worrud ; " ambigu-
ious," she says again, " manes that accordin' to the
laygal laws of some furrin parts, a man may marry
four or five wives if he has a mind to."

At this Margit bristled up like a bantam-hin.

" Do you mane to say, Caycelia Crow," says she,
dhroppin' in her lap the weskit she was mendin', " do
you intind to substantiate that I'm wishin' to marry
the Imperor of Chiney, or," she says, her woice grow-
in' high an' cutting as an east wind, " do you wish
to inferentiate that if my Dan'l had the lave he'd be
[179]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

ambiguious? Will you plaze tell these friends an'
neighbours," she says, wavin' a hand, " which of the
two of us you was minded to insinuate against? "

The attackt was so sudden an' so unexpected that
Misthress Crow was too bewildhered to dayfind her-
self. The poor woman only sat starin' stupid at
Mar git.

The others sunk back in their chairs spacheless
with consternaytion till Mollie Scanlan, wishin' to pa-
cificate the sitiwation, an' winkin' friendly at Cay-
celia, spoke up sootherin'.

" Thrue for ye, Margit Doyle," says she. " What
kind of talk is that for ye to be talkin', Caycelia.'' "
says she. " Sure if Dan'l John were to be med the
Imperor of Chiney to-morrow he'd hesitate an' day-
liberate a long time before bringin' in one of them
ambiguious women to you an' the childher. I'd like
to see him thry it. It'ud be a sore an' a sorrowful day
for him, I'm thinkin'."

At thim worruds, Margit, in her mind's eye, saw
Dan'l John standin' ferninst her with an ambiguious
haythen woman on aich side of him, an' the picture
riled the blood in her heart.

" Oh, ho ! " says she, turning on poor, shrinkin'
[180]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

Mollle with a smile, an' that same smile had loaded
guns an' pistols in it. " An' will you plaze be so kind
an' condesinden', Misthress Scanlan," says she, " to
explain what you ever saw or heerd tell of in my
Dan'l John's actions, that'ud make you think he'd
contimplate such schoundrel endayvours," says she,
thrimblin'.

The only answer to the question was from the
tay-kettle. It was singin' high an' impident on the
hob.

Now, Bridget O'Gill, knowin' woman that she was,
had wisely kept out of the discoorse. She sat apart,
calmly knittin' one of Darby's winther stockings. As
she listened, howsumever, she couldn't keep back a sly
smile that lifted one corner of her mouth.

" Isn't it a poor an' a pittiful case," said Misthress
Doyle, glaring savage from one to the other, " that
a dacint man, the father of noine childher, eight of
them livin', an' one gone for a sojer — isn't it a burnin'
shame," she says, whumperin', " that such a daycint
man must have his char-ack-ther thra juiced before
his own wife — Will you be so good as to tell me
what you're laughing at, Bridget O'Gill, ma'am? "
she blazed.

[ 181 ]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

Bridget, flutthering guilty, thried to hide the mis-
fortunate smile, but 'twas too late.

" Bekase, if it is my husband you're mocking at,"
says Margit, " let me tell you, fair an' plain, his ay-
quils don't Hve in the County of Tipperary, let alone
this parish! 'Tis thrue," she says, tossin' her head,
" he hasn't spint six months with the Good People —
he knows nothin' of the fairies — ^but he has more sinse
than those that have. At any rate, he isn't afeard
of ghosts like a knowledgeable man that I could min-
tion."

That last thrust touched a sore spot in the heart
of Bridget. Although Darby O'Gill would fight a
dozen livin' men, if needful, 'twas well known he had
an unraysonable fear of ghosts. So, Bridget said
never a worrud, but her brown eyes began to sparkle,
an' her red lips were dhrawn up to the size of a but-
ton.

Margit saw how hard she'd hit, an' she wint on
thriumphant.

" My Dan'l John'ud sleep in a churchyard. He's
done it," says she, crowin'.

Bridget could hould in no longer. " I'd be sore
an' sorry," she says, " if a husband of mine were druv
[182]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

to do such a thing as that for the sake of a Httle pace
and quiet," says she, turnin' her cho wider.

Tare an' 'ounds, but that was the sthroke 1 " The
Lord bless us ! " mutthered MoUie Scanlan. Margit's
mind wint up in the air an' staid there whirlin', whilst
she herself sat gasping an' panting for a ray ply.
'Twas a thrilling, suspenseful minute.

The chiney shepherd and shepherdess on the man-
tel sthopped ogling their eyes an' looked shocked at
aich other; at the same time Bob, the linnet, in his
wooden cage at the door, quit his singin' an' cocked
his head the betther to listen ; the surprised tay-kettle
gave a gasp an' a gurgle, an' splutthered over the
fire. In the turrible silence Elizabeth Egan got up
to wet the tay. Settin' the taypot in the fender she
spoke, an' she spoke raysentful.

" Any sinsible man is afeard of ghosts," says she.

" Oh, indade," says Margit, ketching her breath.
" Is that so? Well, sinsible or onsinsible," says she,
" this will be Halloween, an' there's not a man in the
parish who would walk past the churchyard up to
Cormac McCarthy's house, where the Banshee keened
last night, except my Dan'l ! " says she, thrium-
phant.

[183]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

The hurt pride in Bridget rose at that an' forced
from her angry Hps a foolish promise.

" Huh ! we hear ducks talkin'," she says, coolly
rowling up Darby's stocking, an' sticking the needle
in the ball of yarn. " This afthernoon I was at Cor-
mac McCarthy's," she says, " an' there wasn't a bit
of tay in the house for poor Eileen, so I promised
Cormac I'd send him up a handful. Now, be the same
token, I promise you my Darby will make no bones
of going on that errant this night."

" Ho ! ho ! ho ! " laughed Margit. " If he has the
courage to do it bid him sthop in to me on his way
back, an' I'll send to you a fine settin' of eggs from
my black Spanish hin."

What sharp worrud Misthress O'Gill would have
flung back in answer no one knows, bekase whin once
purvoked she has few ayquils for sarcastic langwidge,
but just then Elizabeth Ann put in Bridget's hand a
steaming cup of good, sthrong tay. Now, whusky,
ale, an' porther are all good enough in their places,
yer honour — I've nothing to intimidate aginst them
— but for a comforting, soothering, edayfing buver-
age give me a cup of foine black tay. So this day
the cups were filled only the second time, when the
[184]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

subject of husbands was complately dhropped, an' the
conwersation wandhercd to the misdajmeanours of
Anthony SulHvan's goat.

All this time the women had been so busy with their
talkin' an' argyf^an' that the creeping darkness of
a coming storm had stolen unnoticed into the room,
making the fire glow brighter and redder on the
heartli. A faint flare of lightning, follyed be a low
grumble of thunder, brought the women to their feet.

" Marcy on us ! " says Caycelia Crow, glad of an
excuse to be gone, " do you hear that? We'll all be
dhrownded before we raich home," says she.

In a minute the wisitors, afther dhraining their
cups, were out in the road, aich hurryin' on her sepa-
rate way, an' tying her bonnet-sthrings as she wint.

'Twas a heavy an' a guilty heart that Bridget car-
ried home with her through the gathering storm. Al-
though Darby was a nuntimate friend of the fairies,
yet, as Margit Doyle said, he had such a black
dhread of all other kinds of ghosts that to get him
out on this threatening Halloween night, to walk past
the churchyard, as he must do on his way to Cormac
McCarthy's cottage, was a job ayquil to liftin' the
Shannon bridge. How she was to manage it she
[ 185 ]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

couldn't for the life of her tell ; but if the errant was
left undone she would be the laughin'-stock of every
woman in the parish.

But worst of all, an' what cut her heart the sorest^
was that she had turned an act of neighbourly kind-
ness into a wainglorious boast; an' that, she doubteh
not, was a mortal sin.

She had promised Cormac in the afthernoon that
as soon as she got home she would send Darby over
with some tay for poor little Eileen, an' now a big
storm was gathering, an' before she could have sup-
per ready, thry as hard as she could, black night
might be upon them.

" To bring aise to the dying is the comfortingist
privilege a man or woman can have, an' I've thraded
it for a miserable settin' of eggs," she says. " Amn't
I the unfortunit crachure," she thought, " to have let
me pride rune me this away. What '11 I do at all at
all? " she cried. " Bad luck to the thought that took
me out of me way to Elizabeth Egan's house ! "

Then she med a wish that she might be able to get

home in time to send Darby on his errant before the

night came on. " If they laugh at me, that'll be my

punishment, an' maybe it'll clane my sin," says she.

[186]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

But the wish was in wain. For just as she crossed
the stile to her own field the sun dhropped behind the
hills as though he had been shot, an' the east wind
swept up, carrying with it a sky full of black clouds
an' rain.

II

That same All Sowls' night Darby O'Gill, the
friend of the fairies, sat, as he had often sat before,
amidst the dancin' shadows, f erninst his own crackling
turf and wood fire, listening to the storm beat against
his cottage windows. Little Mickey, his six-year-
ould, cuddled asleep on his daddy's lap, whilst Bridget
sat beside thim, the other childher cruedled around
her. My, oh my, how the rain powered and ham-
mered an' swirled !

Out in the highway the big dhrops smashed agin
wayfarers' faces like blows from a fist, and once in
a while, over the flooded moors and the far row of
lonesome hills, the sullen lightning spurted red and
angry, like the wicious flare of a wolcano.

You may well say 'twas perfect weather for Hal-
loween— to-night whin the spirits of the dayparted
[187]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

dead visit once again their homes, and sit unseen, lis-
tening an' yearnin' about the ould hearthstones.

More than once that avenin' Darby 'd shivered and
shuddered at the wild shrieks and wails that swept
over the chimney -tops ; he bein' sartin sure that it
wasn't the wind at all, but despairing woices that
cried out to him from the could lips of the dead.

At last, afther one purticular doleful cry that rose
and fell and lingered around the roof, the knowledge-
able man raised his head and fetched a deep breath,
and said to his wife Bridget:

" Do you hear that cry, avourneen ? The dear Lord
be marciful to the souls of the day parted ! " sighed
he.

Bridget turned a throubled face toward him.
" Amen," she says, speakin' softly ; " and may He
presarve them who are dying this night. Poor
Eileen McCarthy — an' she the purty, light-footed
colleen only married the few months ! Haven't we the
raysons to be thankul and grateful. We can never
pray enough. Darby," says she.

Now the family had just got off their knees from
night prayers, that had lasted half an hour, so thim
last worruds worried Darby greatly.
[188]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

" That woman," he says to himself, mighty sour,
" is this minute contimplaytin' an' insinuatin' that we
haven't said prayers enough for Eileen, when as it is,
nie two poor knees have blisters on thim as big as bin's
eggs from kneeUn'. An' if I don't look out," he says
to himself again, " she'll put the childher to bed and
then she's down on her knees for another hour, and
me wid her; I'd never advise anyone to marry such
a pious woman. I'm fairly kilt with rayligion, so I
am. I must disthract her mind an' prevent her in-
tintions," he says to himself.

" Maybe, Bridget," he says, out loud, as he was
readying his pipe, " it ain't so bad afther all for
Eileen. If we keep hoping for the best, we'll chate the
worst out of a few good hours at any rate," says the
knowledgeable man.

But Bridget only rowled the apron about her
folded arms and shook her head sorrowful at the fire.
Darby squinted carefully down the stem of his pipe,
blew in it, took a sly glance at his wife, and wint on :

" Don't you raymember, Bridget," he says, " whin

ould Mrs. Rafferty lay sick of a bad informaytion of

the stomick; well, the banshee sat for a full hour

keening an' cryin' before their house — just as it did

[189]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

last night outside Cormac McCarthy's. An' you know
the banshee cried but once at Raiferty's, but never
rayturned the second time. The informaytion left
Julia, and all the wide worruld knows, even the King
of Spain might know if he'd send to ax, that Julia
RafFerty, as strong as a horse, was diggin' petaties in
her own field as late as yesterday."

" The banshee comes three nights before anyone
dies, doesn't it, daddy.'*" says Httle Mickey, waking
up, all excited.

" It does that," says Darby, smilin' proud at the
child's knowledgeableness ; " and it's come but once
to Eileen McCarthy."

" An' while the banshee cries, she sits combing her
hair with a comb of goold, don't she, daddy .^^ "

Bridget sat onaisy, bitin' her lips. Always an' ever
she had sthrove to keep from the childher tidings of
fairies and of banshees an' ghosts an' other on-
natural people. Twice she trun a warning look at
Darby, but he, not noticin', wint on, strokin' the little
lad's hair, an' sayin' to him:

" It does, indade, avick ; an' as she came but once
to Mrs. Rafferty's, so we have ray son to hope she'll
come no more to Cormac McCarthy's."
[190]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

" Hush that nonsinse ! " says Bridget, lookin' dag-
gers ; " sure Jack Doolan says that 'twas no banshee
at all that come to Rafferty's, but only himself who
had taken a drop too much at the fair, an' on his way
home sat down to rest himself by Rafferty's door.
He says that he stharted singin' pious hymns to
kape off the evil spirits, and everyone knows that
the same Jack Doolan has as turrible a woice for
singin' as any banshee that ever twishted a lip," she
says.

The woman's conthrayriness vexed Darby so he
pounded his knee with his fist as he answered her:
" You'll not deny, maybe," he says, " that the Costa
Bower sthopped one night at the Hall, and "

" Whist ! " cried Bridget ; " lave off," she says ;
" sure that's no kind of talk to be talkin' this night
before the childher," says she.

" But mammy, I know what the Costa Bower is,"
cried little Mickey, sitting up straight in Darby's lap
an' pinting his finger at his mother ; " 'tis I that
knows well. The Costa Bower is a gr-r-reat black
coach that comes in the night to carry down to
Croagmah the dead people the banshee keened
for."

[191]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

The other childher by now were sitting boult up-
right, stiff as ramrods, and staring wild-eyed at
Mickey.

" The coachman's head is cut off an' he houlds the
reins this away," says the child, lettin' his hands fall
limp an' open at his side. " Sometimes it's all wisable,
an' then agin it's unwisable, but always whin it comes
one can hear the turrible rumble of its wheels."
Mickey's woice fell and, spreading out his hands, he
spoke slow an' solemn. " One Halloween night in the
woods down at the black pond, Danny Hogan heard
it coming an' he jumped behind a stone. The threes
couldn't sthop it, they wint right through it, an' as
it passed Danny Hogan says he saw one white, dead
face laned back agin the dark cushions, an' this is the
night — All Sowls' night — whin it's sure to be out;
now don't I know.^ " he says, thriumphant.

At that Bridget started to her feet. For a minute
she stood spacheless with vexation at the wild, fright-
ing notions that had got into the heads of her chil-
dher ; then " Glory be ! " she says, looking hard at
Darby. You could have heard a pin dhrop in the
room. Ould Malachi, the big 3^cllow cat, who until
this time lay coiled asleep on a stool, was the best
[192]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

judge of Bridget's charack-tcr in that house. So, no
sooner did he hear the worruds an' see Bridget start
up, tlian he was on his own four feet, his back arched,
his tail straight up, an' his two goolden eyes searchin'
her face. One look was enough for him. The next
instant he lept to the ground an' started for the far
room. As he scampered through the door, he trew a
swift look back at his comeradcs, the childher, an'
that look said plain as any worruds could say :

" Run for it while you've time ! Folly me ; some
one of us vagebones has done something mur-
therin' ! "

Malachi was right ; there would have been sayrious
throuble for all hands, only that a softening thought
was on Bridget that night which sobered her temper.
She stopped a bit, the frown on her face clearing as
she looked at the childher, an' she only said : " Come
out of this! To bed with yez! I'm raising a pack
of owdacious young romancers, an' I didn't know it.
Mickey sthop that whimpering an' make haste with
your clothes. The Lord help us, he's broke off an-
other button. Look at that, now ! " she says.

There was no help for thim. So, with longin' looks
trun back at their father, sittin' cosey before the fire,
[193]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

an' with consolin' winks an' nods from him, the chil-
dher followed their mother to the bedroom.

Thin, whilst Bridget was tucking the covers about
them, an' hushing their complainings. Darby sat with
his elbows on his knees, doing in his head a sum in
figures ; an' that sum was tliis :

" How much would it be worth this All Sowls' night
for a man to go out that door and walk past the
churchyard up to Cormac McCarthy, the stone-cut-
ter's house? " One time he made the answer as low
as tin pounds two shillings and thruppence, but as
he did so a purticular loud blast went shrieking past
outside, an' he raised the answer to one thousand five
hundred an' tunty pounds sterling. " And cheap at
that," he said aloud.

While he was studyin' thim saygacious questions,
Bridget stole quietly behind and put a light hand on
his chowlder. For a minute, thin, nayther of thim
said a worrud.

Surprised at the silence, an' puzzled that little
Mickey had escaped a larruping, Malachi crept from
the far room an' stood still in the doorway judging
his misthress. An' expression was on her face the
cat couldn't quite make out. 'Twas an elevayted,

ri94]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

pitying, good-hearted, daytermined look, such as a
man wears when he goes into the sty to kill one of
his own pigs for Christmas.

Malachi, being a wise an' expayieranced baste,
daycided to take no chances, so he backed through
the door again an' hid undher the dhresser to
listen.

" I was just thinking, Darby avourneen," says the
woman, half whuspering, " how we might this blessed
night earn great credit for our two sowls."

" Wait ! " says the sly man, straightening himself,
an' raising a hand. " The very thing you're going
to spake was in my own mind. I was just dayliber-
atin' that I hadn't done justice to-night to poor Ei-
leen. I haven't said me prayers farvint enough. I
niver can whin we're praying together, or whin I'm
kneeling down. Thin, like every way else, there's
something quare about me. The foinest prayers I
ever say is whin I'm be myself alone in the fields,"
says the conniving villyan. " So, do you, Bridget,
go in an' kneel down by the childher for a half hour
or so, an' I'll sit here doing my best. If you should
happen to look out at me ye might aisily think," he
says, " that I was only sittin' here comfortably smok-
[195]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

ing my pipe, but at the same time prayers'll be whirl-
in' inside of me like a wind-mill," says he.

" Oh, thin, ain't I glad an' happy to hear you say
thim worruds," says his wife, puttin' one foine arrum
about his neck ; " you've taken a load off my heart
that's been weighing heavy on it all night, for I
thought maybe you'd be af eard."

" Af eard of what ? " axed Darby, lif tin' his eye-
brows. Malachi throtted bouldly in an' jumped up
on the stool.

" You know Father Cassidy says," whuspered
Bridget, " that a loving deed of the hands done for
the disthressed is itself a prayer worth a week of com-
mon prayers."

" I have nothin' agin that sayin'," says Darby, his
head cocked, an' he growin' suspicious.

Bridget wiped her forehead with her apron.
" Well, this afthernoon I was at McCarthy's house,"
she wint on, soothering his hair with one hand, " an',
oh, but the poor child was disthressed! Her cheeks
were flaming with the faver. An', Darby, the thirst,
the awful thirst ! I looked about for a pinch of tay —
there's nothing so coolin' for one in the faver as a
cup of wake tay — an' the sorra scrap of it was in the
[196]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

house, SO I tould Cormac that to-night, as soon as the
childher were in bed, I'd send you over with a pinch."

Every one of Darby's four bones stiffened an' a
mortial chill sthruck into his heart.

" Listen, darlint," she says, " the storm's dying
down, so while you're putting on your greatcoat I'll
wrap up the bit of tay." He shook her hand from his
chowldhers.

" Woman," he says, with bitther politeness, " I
think you said that we had a great chanst to get
credit for our two sowls. That's what I think you
raymarked and stibulated," says he.

" Arrah, shouldn't a woman have great praise an'
credit who'll send her husband out on such a night as
this," his wife says. " The worse the con-ditions, the
more credit she'll get. If a ghost were to jump at
ye as you go past the churchyard, oughtn't I be the
happy woman entirely.?" says Bridget.

There was a kind of a tinkle in her woice, such as
comes when Bridget is telling jokes, so Darby, with a
sudden hope in his mind, turned quick to look at her.
But there she stood grim, unfeeling, an' daytermined
as a pinted gun.

" Oh, ho! is that the way it is.? " he says. " Well,
[197]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

here's luck an' good fortune to the ghost or skelling-
ton that lays his hand on me this blessed night ! " He
stuck his two hands deep in his pockets and whirled
one leg across the other — the most aggrawating
thing a man can do. But Bridget was not the laste
discouraged; she only made up her mind to come at
him on his soft side, so she spoke up an' said :

" Suppose I was dying of the faver, Darby O'Gill,
an' Cormac rayfused to bring over a pinch of tay to
me. What, then, would ye think of the stone-cutter? "

Malachi, the cat, stopped licking his paws, an' trun
a sharp, inquiring eye at his master.

" Bridget," says the knowledgeable man, giving
his hand an argifying wave. " We have two sepa-
rate ways of being good. Your way is to scurry
round an' do good acts. My way is to keep from
doing bad ones. An' who knows," he says, with a
pious sigh, " which way is the betther one. It isn't
for us to judge," says he, shakin' his head solemn at
the fire.

Bridget walked out in front of him an' fowlded
her arms tight.

" So you won't go," she says, sharp an' suddin'.

" The divil a foot ! " says he, beginnin' to whustle.
[198]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

You'd think, now, Bridget was bate, but she stiU
hildt her trump card, an' until that was played an'
lost the lad wasn't safe. " All right, me brave hay-
ro," says she ; " do you sit there be the fire ; I'U go
meself," she says. With that she bounced into the
childher's room an' began to get ready her cloak an'
hood.

For a minute Darby sat pokin' the fire, muttherin'
to himself an' feeling very discommodious. Thin,
just to show he wasn't the laste bit onaisy, the lad
cleared his throat, and waggin' his head at the fire,
began to sing :

** Yarra ! as I walked out one mor-r-mn* all in the month ofJ-mtB
The primrosies and daisies an* cowslips were in bloom,
I spied apurty fair maid a-sthrollin' on the lea^
Afb Rory Bory Alice^ nor any other ould ancient haythan goddess

was not half so fair as she.
Says /, * Me purty fair maid^ Fll take you for me hrids^
An* if you*ll pay no at-TIN-tion ' "

Glancing up sudden, he saw Malachi's eye on him,
and if ever the faytures of a cat spoke silent but plain
langwidge Malachi's face talked that minute to its
master, and this is what it said:

" Well, of all the cowardly, creaking bostheens
[199]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

I ever see in all me born days you. are the worst,
Darby O'Gill. You've not only guve impidence to
your wife — an' she's worth four of you — but you've
gone back on the friends you purtended to "

Malachi's faytures got no f urtlier in their insultin'
raymarks, for at that Darby swooped up a big sod
of turf an' let it fly at the owdacious baste.

Now it is well known that be a spontaneous trow
like that no one ever yet hit a sinsible cat, but always
an' ever in that unlucky endayvour he strikes a dam-
aginger blow where it's not intinded. So it was this
time.

Bridget, wearing her red cloak an' hood, was just
coming through the door, an' that misfortunate sod
of turf caught her fair an' square, right below the
chist, an' she staggered back agin the wall.

Darby's consthernaytion an' complycation an' tur-
pitaytion were beyant imaginaytion.

Bridget laned there gasping. If she felt as bad as
she looked, four Dublint surgunts with their saws an'
knives couldn't have done her a ha-porth of good.
Howsumever, for all that, the sly woman had seen
Malachi dodge an' go gallopin' away, but she pur-
tendid to think 'twas at herself the turf was trun.
[200]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

Not that she scolded, or anything so common as that,
but she went on like an early Christian marthyer who
was just goin' to be inthro juiced to the roaring
loins.

Well, as you may aisy see, the poor man, her hus-
band, hadn't a chanst in the worruld af ther that. Of
course, to rightify himself, he'd face all the ghosts in
Croaghmah. So, in a minute, he was standing in his
greatcoat with his hand on the latch. There was a
packet of tay in his pocket, an' he was a subdued an'
conquered man.

He looked so woful that Bridget raypented an'
almost raylinted.

" Raymember," he says, mournful, " if I'm caught
this night be the Costa Bower, or be the banshee, take
good care of the childher, an' raymember what I
say — I didn't mane, Bridget, to hit ye with that sod
of turf."

" Oh, ain't ye the foolish darlin' to be af eared,"
smiled Bridget back at him, but she was sayrious, too.
" Don't you know that when one goes on an errant
of marcy a score of God's white angels with swoords
in their hands march before an' beside an' afther him,
keeping his path free from danger.'* " With that she
i 2 Jl 1

THE banshee's COMB

pulled his face down to hers, an' kissed him as she used
in the ould courtin' days.

There's nothing puts so much high courage an'
clear, steadfast purpose in a man's heart, if it be
properly given, as a kiss from the woman he loves.
So, with the warmth of that kiss to cheer him, Darby
set his face agin the storm.

\WSl 1

CHAPTER II

THE banshee's HALLOWEEN

Halloween night, to all unhappy ghosts, is about
the same as St. Patrick's Day is to you or to me —
'tis a great holiday in every churchyard. An' no
one knew this betther or felt it keener than did Darby
O'Gill, that same Halloween night, as he stood on
his own doorstep with the paper of black tay for
Eileen McCarthy safely stowed away in the crown of
his top-hat.

No one in that barony was quicker than he at an
act of neighbourly kindness, but now, as he huddled
himself together in the shelter of his own eaves, and
thought of the dangers before, an' of the cheerful
fire an' comfortable bed he was leaving behint, black
raybellion rushed shouting across his heart.

" Oh, my, oh, my, what a perishin' night to turn
a man out into ! " he says. " It'd be half a comfort
to know I was goin' to be kilt before I got back, just
as a warnin' to Bridget," says he.
[203]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

The misthrayted lad turned a sour eye on the chu-
multuous weather, an' groaned deep as he pulled
closer about his chowldhers the cape of his greatcoat
an' plunged into the daysarted an' flooded roadway.

Howsumever, 'twas not the pelting rain, nor the
lashing wind, nor yet the pitchy darkness that
bothered the heart out of him as he wint splashin' an'
stumbling along the road. A thought of something
more raylentless than the storm, more mystarious than
the night's blackness put pounds of lead into the lad's
unwilling brogues; for somewhere in the shrouding
darkness that covered McCarthy's house the banshee
was waiting this minute, purhaps, ready to jump out
at him as soon as he came near her.

And, oh, if the banshee nabbed him there, what in
the worruld would the poor lad do to save himself?

At the raylisation of this sitiwation, the goose-flesh
crept up his back an' settled on his neck an' chowl-
dhers. He began to cast about in his mind for a bit
of cheer or a scrap of comfort, as a man in such sar-
cumstances will do. So, grumblin' an' sore-hearted,
he turned over Bridget's parting words. " If one goes
on an errant of marcy," Bridget had said, " a score
of God's white angels with swoords in their hands
[204]

THE BANSHEES COMB

march before an' beside an' afther him, keeping his
path free from danger."

He felt anxious in his hat for the bit of chari-
table tay he was bringin', and was glad to find it there
safe an' dhry enough, though the rest of him was
drenched through an' through.

" Isn't this an act of charity I'm doin', to be bring-
in' a cooling drink to a dyin' woman.? " he axed him-
self aloud. " To be sure it is. Well, then, what ray-
son have I to be af eared ? " says he, pokin' his two
hands into his pockets. Arrah, it's aisy enough to
bolsther up one's heart with wise say in' an' hayroic
praycepts when sitting comodious by one's own fire;
but talkin' wise words to one's self is mighty poor com-
fort when you're on the lonely high-road of a Hal-
loween night, with a churchyard waitin' for ye on the
top of the hill not two hundred yards away. If there
was only one star to break through the thick sky an'
shine for him, if there was but one friendly cow to low
or a distant cock to break the teeming silence, 'twould
put some heart into the man. But not a sound was
there only the swish and wailing of the wind through
the inwisible hedges.

" What's the matther with the whole worruld ?
[205]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

Where is it wanished to? " says Darby. " If a ghost
were to jump at me from the churchyard wall, where
would I look for help? To run is no use," he says,
" an' to face it is "

Just then the current of his misdoubtings ran
whack up against a say in' of ould Peggy O'Cal-
laghan. Mrs. O'Callaghan's repitation for truth and
voracity, whin it come to fair}^ tales or ghost stories,
be it known, was ayquil if not shuparior to the best in
Tipperary. Now, Peggy had towld Ned MuUin, an'
Ned Mullin had towld Bill Donahue, the tinker, an'
the tinker had adwised Darby that no one need ever be
af eared of ghosts if he only had the courage to face
them.

Peggy said, " The poor crachures ain't roamin'
about shakin' chains an' moanin' an' groanin', just
for the sport of scarin' people, nor yet out of mane-
ness. 'Tis always a throuble that's on their minds
— a message they want sint, a saycret they're enday-
vouring to unload. So instead of flyin' from the on-
happy things, as most people generally do," she said,
" one should walk up bowld to the apparraytion, be it
gentle or common, male or faymale, an' say, ' What
throubles ye, sir? ' or ' What's amiss with ye, ma'am? '
[206]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

An' take my worrud for it," says she, " ye'll find
yourself a boneyf actor to them when you laste expect
it," she says.

'Twas a quare idee, but not so onraysonable afther
all whin one comes to think of it ; an' the knowledge-
able man fell to dayliberatin' whether he'd have the
hardness to folly it out if the chanst came. Some-
times he thought he would, then agin he was sure he
wouldn't. For Darby O'Gill was one who bint quick
undher trouble like a young three before a hurrycane,
but he only bint — the throuble never broke him. So,
at times his courage wint down to a spark like the
light of a candle in a gust of wind, but before you
cculd turn on your heel 'twas blazing up sthrong and
fiercer than before.

Whilst thus contimplatin' an' meditaytin', his foot
sthruck the bridge in the hollow just below the ber-
rin'-ground, an' there as the boy paused a minute,
churning up bravery enough to carry him up the hill
an' past the mystarious gravestones, there came a
short quiver of hghtning, an' in its sudden flare he
was sure he saw not tin yards away, an' comin' down
the hill toward him, a dim shape that took the breath
out of his body.

[207]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

" Oh, be the powers ! " he gasped, his courage
emptying out like wather from a spilt pail.

It moved, a slow, grey, formless thing without a
head, an' so far as he was able to judge it might be
about the size of an ulephant. The parsecuted lad
swung himself sideways in the road, one arrum over
his eyes an' the other stretched out at full length,
as if to ward off the turrible wisitor.

The first thing that began to take any shape in his
bewildhered brain was Peggy O'Callaghan's adwice.
He thried to folly it out, but a chatterin' of teeth was
the only sound he made. An' all this time a thray-
mendous splashin', like the floppin' of whales, was
coming nearer an' nearer.

The splashin' stopped not three feet away, an' the
ha'nted man felt in the spine of his back an' in the
calves of his legs that a powerful, unhowly monsther
towered over him.

Why he didn't swoonge in his tracks is the won-
dher. He says he would have dhropped at last if it
weren't for the distant bark of his own good dog.
Sayser, that put a throb of courage intil his bones.
At that friendly sound he opened his two dhry lips
an' stutthered this sayin':

[208]

THE banshee's COMB

** Whoever you are, an' whatever shape ye come in,
take heed that I'm not afeared," he says. " I com-
mand ye to tell me your throubles an' I'll be your
boneyfactor. Then go back dacint an' rayspectable
where you're buried. Spake an' I'll listen," says he.

He waited for a reply, an' getting none, a hot
splinther of shame at bein' so badly frightened turned
his sowl into wexation. " Spake up," he says, " but
come no furder, for if you do, be the hokey I'll take
one thry at ye, ghost or no ghost ! " he says. Once
more he waited, an' as he was lowering the arrum
from his eyes for a peek, the ghost spoke up, an' its
answer came in two pitiful, disthressed roars. A
damp breath puffed acrost his face, an' openin' his
eyes, what should the lad see but the two dhroopin'
ears of Solomon, Mrs. Kilcannon's grey donkey.
Foive different kinds of disgust biled up into Darby's
throat an' almost sthrangled him. " Ye murdherin',
big-headed imposture ! " he gasped.

Half a minute afther a brown hoot-owl, which was
shelthered in a near-by black-thorn three, called out to
his brother's fambly which inhabited the belfry of the
chapel above on the hill that some black-minded spal-
peen had hoult of Solomon Kilcannon be the iwo ears
[209]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

an' was kickin' the ribs out of him, an' that the Ian-
gwidge the man was usin' to the poor baste was worse
than scan'lous.

Although Darby couldn't undherstand what the
owl was say in', he was startled be the blood-cur dlin'
hoot, an' that same hoot saved Solomon from any
further exthray ornery throuncin', bekase as the angry
man sthopped to hearken there flashed on him the
rayilisation that he was bating an' crool maulthrayt-
in' a blessing in dishguise. For this same Solomon
had the repitation of being the knowingest, sensiblist
thing which walked on four legs in that parish. He
was a fayvourite with young an' old, especially with
childher, an' Mrs. Kilcannon said she could talk to
him as if he were a human, an' she was sure he un-
dersthood. In the face of thim facts the knowledge-
able man changed his chune, an' puttin' his arrum
friendly around the disthressed animal's neck, he
said:

" Aren't ye ashamed of yerself , Solomon, to be pay-
radin' an' mayandherin' around the churchyard Hal-
loween night, dishguisin' yerself this away as an out-
landish ghost, an' you havin' the foine repitation for
daciency an' good manners ? " he says, excusin' him-
[SIO]

THE BANSHEES COMB

self. " I'm ashamed of you, so I am, Solomon," says
he, hauling the baste about in the road, an' turning
him till his head faced once more the hillside. " Come
back with me now to Cormac McCarthy's, avourneen.
We've aich been in worse company, I'm thinkin'; at
laste you have, Solomon," says he.

At that, kind an' friendly enough, the forgivin'
baste turned with him, an' the two keeping aich other
slitherin' company, went stumblin' an' scramblin'
up the hill toward the chapel. On the way Darby
kept up a one-sided conwersation about all manner
of things, just so that the ring of a human woice,
even if 'twas only his own, would take a bit of the
crool lonesomeness out of the dark hedges.

" Did you notice McDonald's sthrame as you came
along the night, Solomon? It must be a roarin' tor-
rent be this, with the pourin' rains, an' we'll have to
cross it," says he. " We could go over McDonald's
stone bridge that stands ferninst McCarthy's house,
with only Nolan's meadow betwixt the two, but," says
Darby, laying a hand, confaydential on the ass's wet
back, " 'tis only a fortnit since long Faylix, the blind
beggarman, fell from the same bridge and broke his
neck, an' what more natural," he axed, " than that
[211]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

the ghost of Faylix would be celebraytin' its first Hal-
loween, as a ghost, at the spot where he was kilt ? "

You may believe me or believe me not, but at thim
worruds Solomon sthopped dead still in his thracks
an' rayfused to go another step till Darby coaxed him
on be sayin' :

" Oh, thin, we won't cross it if you're af eared, little
man," says he, " but we'll take the path through the
fields on this side of it, and we'll cross the sthrame by
McCarthy's own wooden foot-bridge. 'Tis within
tunty feet of the house. Oh, ye needn't be af eared,"
he says agin ; " I've seen the cows cross it, so it'll
surely hould the both of us."

A sudden raymembrance whipped into his mind of
how tall the stile was, ladin' into Nolan's meadow, an'
the boy was puzzling deep in his mind to know how was
Solomon to climb acrost that stile, whin all at once the
gloomy western gate of the graveyard rose quick be
their side.

The two shied to the opposite hedge, an' no won-
dher they did.

Fufty ghosts, all in their shrouds, sat cheek be
jowl along the churchyard wall, never caring a ha'-
porth for the wind or the rain.
[ 212 ]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

There was little Ted Rogers, the humpback, who
was dhrownded in Mullin's well four years come
Michaelmas; there was black Mulligan, the game-
keeper, who shot Ryan, the poacher, sittin' with a
gun on his lap, an' he glowerin'; beside the game-
keeper sat the poacher, with a jagged black hole in
his forehead ; there was Thady Finnegan, the scholar,
who was disappointed in love an' died of a daycline;
furder on sat Mrs. Houlihan, who dayparted this life
from ating of pizen musherooms; next to her sat —
oh, a hundhred others !

Not that Darby saw thim, do ye mind. He had
too good sinse to look that way at all. He walked
with his head turned out to the open fields, an' his
eyes squeeged shut. But something in his mind toult
him they were there, an' he felt in the marrow of his
bones that if he gave them the encouragement of one
glance two or three'd slip off the wall an' come moan-
in' over to tell him their throubles.

What Solomon saw an' what Solomon heard, as the
two wint shrinkin' along'll never be known to living
man, but once he gave a jump, an' twice Darby felt
him thrimblin', an' whin they raiched at last the
chapel wall the baste broke into a swift throt. Purty
[213]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

soon he galloped, an' Darby wint gallopin' with him,
till two yallow blurs of light across in a field to the
left marked the windys of the stone-cutter's cottage.

'Twas a few steps only, thin, to the stile over into
Nolan's meadow, an' there the two stopped, lookin'
helpless at aich other. Solomon had to be lifted, and
there was the throuble. Three times Darby thried
be main strength to hist his compagnen up the steps,
but in vain, an' Solomon was clane dishgusted.

Only for the tendher corn on our hayro's left little
toe, I think maybe that at length an' at last the pair
would have got safe over. The kind-hearted lad had
the donkey's two little hoofs planted on the top step,
an' whilst he himself was liftin' the rest of the baste
in his arrums, Solomon got onaisy that he was goin'
to be trun, an' so began to twisht an' squirm; of
course, as he did. Darby slipped an' wint thump on
his back agin the stile, with Solomon sittin' comfort-
able on top of the lad's chist. But that wasn't the
worst of it, for as the baste scrambled up he planted
one hard little hoof on Darby's left foot, an' the
knowledgeable man let a yowl out of him that must
have frightened all the ghosts within miles.

Seein' he'd done wrong, Solomon boulted for the
[214]

THE

middle of the road an' stood there wiry an' attentive,
listening to the names flung at him from where his
late comerade sat on the lowest step of the stile nursin'
the hurted foot.

'Twas an excited owl in the belfry that this time
spoke up an' shouted to his brother down in the black-
thorn :

" Come up, come up quick ! " it says. " Darby
O'Gill is just afther calling Solomon Kilcannon a
malayfactor."

Darby rose at last, an' as he climbed over the stile
he turned to shake his fist toward the middle of the
road.

" Bad luck to ye for a thick-headed, on-grateful
informer ! " he says ; " you go your way an' I'll go
mine — we're sundhers," says he. So say in', the crip-
pled man wint limpin' an' grumplin' down the boreen,
through the meadow, whilst his desarted friend sint
rayproachf ul brays afther him that would go to your
heart.

The throbbin' of our hayro's toe banished all pity

for the baste, an' even all thoughts of the banshee,

till a long, gurgling, swooping sound in front toult

him that his fears about the rise in McDonald's

[215]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

sthrame were undher rather than over the actwil con-
ditions.

Fearin' that the wooden foot-bridge might be swept
away, as it had been the year purvious, he hurried
on.

Most times this sthrame was only a quiet little
brook that ran betwixt purty green banks, with hardly
enough wather in it to turn the broken wheel in Char-
tres' runed mill; but to-night it swept along an
angry, snarlin', growlin' river that overlept its banks
an' dhragged wildly at the swaying willows.

Be a narrow throw of light from McCarthy's side
windy our thraveller could see the maddened wather
sthrivin' an' tearing to pull with it the props of the
little foot-bridge ; an' the boards shook an' the centre
swayed undher his feet as he passed over. " Bedad,
I'll not cross this way goin' home, at any rate," he
says, looking back at it.

The worruds were no sooner out of his mouth than
there was a crack, an' the middle of the foot-bridge
lifted in the air, twishted round for a second, an then
hurled itself into the sthrame, laving the two inds still
standing in their place on the banks.

" Tunder an' turf ! " he cried, " I mustn't forget
[216]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

to tell the people within of this, for if ever there was
a thrap set by evil spirits to drownd a poor, unwary
mortial, there it stands. Oh, ain't the ghosts turrible
wicious on Halloween ! "

He stood dhrippin' a minute on the threshold, lis-
tening; thin, without knockin', lifted the latch an'
stepped softly into the house.

n

Two candles burned above the blue and white
chiney dishes on the table, a bright fire blazed on the
hearth, an' over in the corner where the low bed was
set the stone-cutter was on his knees beside it.

Eileen lay on her side, her shining hair sthrealed
out on the pillow. Her purty, flushed face was turned
to Cormac, who knelt with his forehead hid on the bed-
covers. The colleen's two little hands were clasped
about the great fist of her husband, an' she was talk-
ing low, but so airnest that her whole life was in
every worrud.

" God save all here ! " said Darby, takin' off^ his
hat, but there was no answer. So deep were Cormac
an' Eileen in some conwersation they were having
[217]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

together that they didn't hear his coming. The
knowledgeable man didn't know what to do. He ray-
lised that a husband and wife about to part for ever
were lookin' into aich other's hearts, for maybe the
last time. So he just sthood shifting from one foot
to the other, watching thim, unable to daypart, an'
not wishin' to obtrude.

" Oh, it isn't death at all that I fear," Eileen was
saying. " No, no, Cormac asthore, 'tis not that I'm
misdoubtful of; but, ochone mavrone, 'tis you I
fear!"

The kneelin' man gave one swift upward glance,
and dhrew his face nearer to the sick wife. She wint
on, thin, spakin' tindher an' half smiling an' sthrok-
in' his hand:

" I know, darlint, I know well, so you needn't tell
me, that if I were to live with you a thousand years
you'd never sthray in mind or thought to any other
woman, but it's when I'm gone — when the lonesome
avenings folly aich other through days an' months,
an' maybe years, an' you sitting here at this fireside
without one to speak to, an' you so handsome an'
gran', an' with the penny or two we've put

away "

[218]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

" Oh, asthore machree, why can't ye banish thim
black thoughts ! " says the stone-cutter. " Maybe,"
he says, " the banshee will not come again. Ain't
all the counthry-side prayin' for ye this night,
an' didn't Father Cassidy himself bid you to hope.''
The saints in Heaven couldn't be so crool ! " says
he.

But the colleen wint on as though she hadn't heard
him, or as if he hadn't intherrupted her :

" An' listen," says she ; " they'll come urging ye,
the neighbours, an' raysonin' with you. You're own
flesh an' blood'll come, an', no doubt, me own with
them, an' they all sthriving to push me out of your
heart, an' to put another woman there in my place.
I'll know it all, but I won't be able to call to you, Cor-
mac machree, for I'll be lying silent undher the grass,
or undher the snow up behind the church."

While she was sayin' thim last worruds, although
Darby's heart was meltin' for Eileen, his mind be-
gan running over the colleens of that townland to
pick out the one who'd be most likely to marry Cor-
mac in the ind. You know how far-seeing an' quick-
minded was the knowledgeable man. He settled sud-
den on the Hanlon girl, an' daycided at once that
[219]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

she'd have Cormac before the year was out. The
ondaycencj of such a thing made him furious at
her.

He says to himself, half crying, " Why, then, bad
cess to you for a shameless, red-haired, forward bag-
gage, Bridget Hanlon, to be runnin' afther the man,
an' throwing yourself in his way, an' Eileen not yet
cowld in her grave ! " he says.

While he was saying them things to himself,
McCarthy had been whuspering fierce to his wife, but
what it was the stone-cutter said the friend of the
fairies couldn't hear. Eileen herself spoke clean
enough in answer, for the faver gave her onnatural
strength.

" Don't think," she says, " that it's the first time
this thought has come to me. Two months ago, whin
I was sthrong an' well an' sittin' happy as a meadow-
lark at your side, the same black shadow dhrif ted over
me heart. The worst of it an' the hardest to bear
of all is that they'll be in the right, for what good can
I do for you when I'm undher the clay," says she.

" It's different with a woman. If you were taken
an' I left I'd wear your face in my heart through all
me life, an' ax for no sweeter company."
[220]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

" Eileen," says Cormac, liftin' his hand, an' his
woice was hoarse as the roar of the say, " I swear to
you on me bendid knees "

With her hand on his Hps, she sthopped him.
" There'll come on ye by daygrees a great cravin' for
sympathy, a hunger an' a longing for affection, an'
you'll have only the shadow of my poor, wanished
face to comfort you, an' a recollection of a woice that
is gone for ever. A new, warm face'U keep pushin'
itself betwixt us "

" Bad luck to that red-headed hussy ! " mutthered
Darby, looking around disthressed. " I'll warn ta,-
ther Cassidy of her an' of her intintions the day
afther the funeral."

There was silence for a minute; Cormac, the poor
lad, was sobbing like a child. By-and-by Eileen wint
on again, but her woice was failing an' Darby could
see that her cheeks were wet.

" The day'll come when you'll give over," she says.
" Ah, I see how it'll all ind. Afther that you'll visit
the churchyard be stealth, so as not to make the other
woman sore-hearted."

"My, oh, my, isn't she the far-seein' woman?"
thought Darby.

THE banshee's COMB

" Little childher'll come," she says, " an' their soft,
warm arrums will hould you away. By-and-by you'll
not go where I'm laid at all, an' all thoughts of these
few happy months we've spent together — Oh!
Mother in Heaven, how happy they were "

The girl started to her elbow, for, sharp an' sud-
den, a wild, wailing cry just outside the windy star-
tled the shuddering darkness. 'Twas a long cry of
terror and of grief, not shrill, but piercing as a knife-
thrust. Every hair on Darby's head stood up an'
pricked him like a needle. 'Twas the banshee !

" Whist, listen ! " says Eileen. " Oh, Cormac as-
thore, it's come for me again ! " With that, stiff with
terror, she buried herself undher the pillows.

A second cry f oUyed the first, only this time it was
longer, and rose an' swelled into a kind of a song that
broke at last into the heart-breakingest moan that ever
fell on mortial ears. " Ochone ! " it sobbed.

The knowledgeable man, his blood turned to ice,
his legs thremblin' like a hare's, stood looking in spite
of himself at the black windy-panes, expecting some
frightful wision.

Afther that second cry the woice balanced itself up
an' down into the awful death keen. One word made

THE BANSHEE S COMB

the whole song, and that was the turruble worrud,
" Forever ! "

" Forever an' forever, oh, forever ! " swung the
wild keen, until all the deep meaning of the worrud
burned itself into Darby's sowl, thin the heart-break-
in' sob, " Ochone ! " inded always the varse.

Darby was just wondherin' whether he himself
wouldn't go mad with fright, whin he gave a sudden
jump at a hard, sthrained woice which spoke up at his
very elbow.

" Darby O'Gill," it said, and it was the stone-cut-
ter who spoke, " do you hear the death keen ? It came
last night; it'll come to-morrow night at this same
hour, and thin — oh, my God ! "

Darby tried to answer, but he could only stare at
the white, set face an' the sunken eyes of the man
before him.

There was, too, a kind of fierce quiet in the way
McCarthy spoke that made Darby shiver.

The stone-cutter wint on talkin' the same as though
he was goin' to dhrive a bargain. " They say you're
a knowledgeable man. Darby O'Gill," he says, " an'
that on a time you spint six months with the fairies.
Now I make you this fair, square offer," he says, lay-
[223]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

ing a forefinger in the palm of the other hand. " 1
have fifty-three pounds that Father Cassidy's keep-
ing for me. Fifty-three pounds," he says agin.
" An' I have this good bit of a farm that me father
was born on, an' his father was born on, too, and
the grandfather of him. An' I have the grass of
seven cows. You know that. Well, I'll give it all
to you, all, every stiver of it, if you'll only go out-
side an' dhrive away that cursed singer." He trew
his head to one side an' looked anxious up at Darby.

The knowledgeable man racked his brains for some-
thing to speak, but all he could say was, " I've
brought you a bit of tay from the wife, Cormac."

McCarthy took the tay with unfeeling hands, an'
wint on talking in the same dull way. Only this time
there came a hard lump in his throat now and then
that he stopped to swally.

" The three cows I have go, of course, with the
farm," says he. " So does the pony an' the five pigs.
I have a good plough an' a foine harrow; but you
must lave my stone-cutting tools, so little Eileen an'
I can earn our way wherever we go, an' it's little the
crachure ates the best of times."

The man's eyes were dhry an' blazin' ; no doubt his

THE BANSHEE S COMB

mind was cracked with grief. There was a lump in
Darby's throat, too, but for all that he spoke up
scolding-like.

" Arrah, talk rayson, man," he says, putting two
hands on Cormac's chowlders ; " if I had the wit or
the art to banish the banshee, wouldn't I be happy
to do it an' not a fardin' to pay? "

" Well, then," says Cormac, scowling, an' pushin'
Darby to one side, " I'll face her myself — I'll face
her an' choke that song in her throat if Sattin himself
stood at her side."

With those words, an' before Darby could sthop
him, the stone-cutter flung open the door an' plunged
out into the night. As he did so the song outside
sthopped. Suddenly a quick splashing of feet, hoarse
cries, and shouts gave tidings of a chase. The half-
crazed gossoon had stharted the banshee — of that
there could be no manner of doubt. A raymembrance
of the awful things that she might do to his friend
paythrefied the heart of Darby.

Even afther these cries died away he stood listen-
ing a full minute, the sowls of his two brogues glued
to the floor. The only sounds he heard now were the
deep ticking of a clock and a cricket that chirped

THE BANSHEE S COMB

slow an' solemn on the hearth, an' from somewhere
outside came the sorrowful cry of a whipperwill. All
at once a thought of the broken bridge an' of the
black, treacherous waters caught him like the blow of
a whip, an' for a second drove from his mind even
the fear of the banshee.

In that one second, an' before he rayalised it, the
lad was out undher the dhripping trees, and running
for his life toward the broken foot-bridge. The
night was whirling an' beating above him like the
flapping of thraymendous wings, but as he ran Darby
thought he heard above the rush of the water and
through the swish of the wind Cormac's woice calling
him.

The friend of the fairies stopped at the edge of
the foot-bridge to listen. Although the storm had
almost passed, a spiteful flare of lightning lept up
now an' agin out of the western hills, an' afther it
came the dull rumble of distant thunder; the water
splashed spiteful against the bank, and Darby saw
that seven good feet of the bridge had been torn out
of its centre, laving uncovered that much of the black,
deep flood.

He stood sthraining his eyes an' ears in wondhera-
[ 226 ]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

tion, for now the woice of Cormac sounded from the
other side of the sthrame, and seemed to be floating
toward him through the field over the path Darby
himself had just thravelled. At first he was mightily
bewildhered at what might bring Cormac on the other
side of the brook, till all at once the murdhering
scheme of the banshee burst in his mind like a gun-
powdher explosion.

Her plan was as plain as day — she meant to
dhrown the stone-cutter. She had led the poor, days-
thracted man straight from his own door down to
and over the new stone bridge, an' was now daylud-
herin' him on the other side of the sthrame, back agin
up the path that led to the broken foot-bridge.

In the glare of a sudden blinding flash from the
middle of the sky Darby saw a sight he'll never for-
get till the day he dies. Cormac, the stone-cutter,
was running toward the death-trap, his bare head
trun back, an' his two arrums stretched out in front
of him. A little above an' just out of raich of them,
plain an' clear as Darby ever saw his wife Bridget,
was the misty white figure of a woman. Her long,
waving hair sthrealed back from her face, an' her
face was the face of the dead.
[ 227 ]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

At the sight of her Darby thried to call out a warn-
ing, but the words fell back into his throat. Thin
again came the stifling darkness. He thried to run
away, but his knees failed him, so he turned around
to face the danger.

As he did so he could hear the splash of the man's
feet in the soft mud. In less than a minute Cormac
would be sthruggling in the wather. At the thought
Darby, bracing himself body and sowl, let a warn-
ing howl out of him.

" Hould where you are ! " he shouted ; " she wants
to drownd ye — the bridge is broke in the middle ! "
but he could tell, from the rushing footsteps an'
from the hoarse swelling curses which came nearer
an' nearer every second, that the dayludhered man,
crazed with grief, was deaf an' blind to everything
but the figure that floated before his eyes.

At that hopeless instant Bridget's parting words
popped into Darby's head.

" When one goes on an errant of marcy a score of
God's white angels, with swoords in their hands,
march before an' beside an' afther him, keeping his
path free from danger."

How it all come to pass lie could never rightly tell,
[ 228 ]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

for he was like a man in a dhrame,but he recollects well
standing on the broken ind of the bridge, Bridget's
words ringing in his ears, the glistening black gulf
benathe his feet, an' he swinging his arrums for a
jump. Just one thought of herself and the childher,
as he gathered himself for a spring, an' then he
cleared the gap like a bird.

As his two feet touched the other side of the gap a
turrific screech — not a screech, ajther, but an angry,
frightened shriek — almost split his ears. He felt a
rush of cowld, dead air agin his face, and caught a
whifF of newly turned clay in his nosthrils ; something
white stopped quick before him, an' then, with a sec-
ond shriek, it shot high in the darkness an' disap-
peared. Darby had frightened the wits out of the
banshee.

The instant afther the two men were clinched
an' rowling over an' over aich other down the mud-
dy bank, their legs splashing as far as the knees
in the dangerous wather, an' McCarthy raining
wake blows on the knowledgeable man's head an'
breast.

Darby felt himself goin' into the river. Bits of
the bank caved undher him, splashing into the cur-
[229]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

rent, an' the lad's heart began clunking up an' down
like a churn-dash.

" Lave off, lave off ! " he cried, as soon as he could
ketch his breath. " Do you take me for the banshee ? "
says he, giving a dusperate lurch an' rowling himself
on top of the other.

" Who are you, then ? If you're not a ghost you're
the divil, at any rate," gasped the stone-cutter.

" Bad luck to ye ! " cried Darby, clasping both
arrums of the haunted man. " I'm no ghost, let lone
the divil — I'm only your friend, Darby O'Gill."

Lying there, breathing hard, they stared into the
faces of aich other a little space tiU the poor stone-
cutter began to cry.

" Oh, is that you. Darby O'Gill.? Where is the
banshee? Oh, haven't I the bad fortune," he says,
sthriving to raise himself.

" Rise up," says Darby, lifting the man to his
feet an' steadying him there. The stone-cutter stared
about like one stunned be a blow.

" I don't know where the banshee flew, but do you

go back to Eileen as soon as you can," says the friend

of the fairies. " Not that way, man alive," he says,

as Cormac started to climb the foot-bridge, " it's

[230]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

broke in the middle; go down an' cross the stone
bridge. I'll be afther you in a minute," he
says.

Without a word, meek now and biddable as a child,
Cormac turned, an' Darby saw him hurry aw^ay into
the blackness.

The raysons Darby raymained behind were two:
first an' foremost, he was a bit vexed at the way his
clothes were muddied an' dhraggled, an' himself had
been pounded an' hammered; an' second, he wanted
to think. He had a quare cowld feeling in his mind
that something was wrong — a kind of a foreboding,
as one might say.

As he stood thinking a rayalisation of the cay-
lamity sthruck him all at once like a rap on the jaw
— he had lost his fine brier pipe. The lad groaned
as he began the anxious sarch. He slapped furiously
at his chist an' side pockets, he dived into his throw-
sers and greatcoat, and at last, sprawlin' on his hands
an' feet like a monkey, he groped savagely through
the wet, sticky clay.

" This comes," says the poor lad, grumblin' an'
gropin', " of pokin' your nose into other people's
business. Hallo, what's this ? " says he, straighten-
[231]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

ing himself. " 'Tis a comb. Be the powers of pew
ther, 'tis the banshee's comb."

An' so indade it was. He had picked up a goold
comb the length of your hand an' almost the width
of your two fingers. About an inch of one ind was
broken off, an' dhropped into Darby's palm. With-
out thinkin', he put the broken bit into his w^eskit
pocket, an' raised the biggest half close to his eyes,
the betther to view it.

" May I never see sorrow," he says, " if the banshee
mustn't have dhropped her comb. Look at that, now.
Folks do be sayin' that 'tis this gives her the foine
singing voice, bekase the comb is enchanted," he says.
" If that sayin' be thrue, it's the faymous lad I am
from this night. I'll thravel from fair to fair, an'
maybe at the ind they'll send me to parliament."

With these worruds he lifted his caubeen an' stuck
the comb in the top tuft of his hair.

Begor, he'd no sooner guv it a pull than a sour,
singing feelin' begun at the bottom of his stomick,
an' it rose higher an' higher. When it raiched his
chist he was just going to let a bawl out of himself
only that he caught sight of a thing ferninst him
that froze the marrow in his bones.
[232]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

He gasped short an' jerked the comb out of his
hair, for there, not tin feet away, stood a dark,
shadowy woman, tall, thin, an' motionless, laning on
a crutch.

During a breath or two the parsecuted hayro lost
his head completely, for he never doubted that the
banshee had changed her shuit of clothes to chase
back afther him.

The first clear aymotion that rayturned to him was
to fling the comb on the ground an' make a boult of
it. On second thought he knew that 'twould be aisier
to bate the wind in a race than to run away from the
banshee.

" Well, there's a good Tipperary man done for
this time," groaned the knowledgeable man, " unless
in some way I can beguile her." He was fishing in
his mind for its civilist worrud when the woman spoke
up, an' Darby's heart jumped with gladness as he
raycognised the cracked voice of Sheelah Maguire,
the spy for the fairies.

" The top of the avenin' to you, Darby O'Gill,"

says Sheelah, peering at him from undher her hood,

the two eyes of her glowing like tallow candles;

amn't I kilt with a-stonishment to see you here

[233]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

alone this time of the night," says the ould
witch.

Now, the clever man knew as well as though he
had been tould, when Sheelah said thim worruds, that
the banshee had sent her to look for the comb, an'
his heart grew bould; but he answered her polite
enough, " Why, thin, luck to ye, Misthress Maguire,
ma'am," he says, bowing grand, " sure, if you're kilt
with a-stonishment, amn't I sphlit with inkerdoolity
to find yourself mayandherin' in this lonesome place
on Halloween night."

Sheelah hobbled a step or two nearer, an' whus-
pered confaydential.

" I was wandherin' hereabouts only this morning,"
she says, " an' I lost from me hair a goold comb —
one that I've had this forty years. Did ye see such
a thing as that, agra.'' " An' her two eyes blazed.

" Faix, I dunno," says Darby, putting his two
arrums behind him. " Was it about the length of
ye're hand an' the width of ye're two fingers ? " he
axed.

" It was," says she, thrusting out a withered paw.

" Thin I didn't find it," says the tantalising man.
" But maybe I did find something summillar, only
[234]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

'twasn't yours at all, but the banshee's," he says,
chuckling.

Whether the hag was intentioned to welt Darby
with her staff, or whether she was only liftin' it for
to make a sign of enchantment in the air, will never
be known, but whatsomever she meant the hayro
doubled his fists an' squared off; at that she lowered
the stick, an' broke into a shrill, cackling laugh.

" Ho, ho ! " she laughed, houldin' her sides, " but
aren't ye the bould, distinguishable man. Becourse
'tis the banshee's comb ; how well ye knew it ! Be the
same token I'm sint to bring it away ; so make haste
to give it up, for she's hiding an' waiting for me
down at Chartres' mill. Aren't you the courageous
blaggard, to grabble at her, an' thry to ketch her.
Sure, such a thing never happened before, since the
worruld began," says Sheelah.

The idee that the banshee was hiding an' afeared to
face him was great news to the hayro. But he only
tossed his head an' smiled shuparior as he made an-
swer.

" 'Tis yourself that knows well, Sheelah Maguire,
ma'am," answers back the proud man, slow an' day-
liberate, " that whin one does a favour for an un-
[235]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

earthly spirit he may daymand for pay the favours
of three such wishes as the spirit has power to give.
The worruld knows that. Now I'll take three good
wishes, such as the banshee can bestow, or else I'll
carry the goolden comb straight to Father Cassidy.
The banshee hasn't goold nor wor'ly goods, as the
sayin' is, but she has what suits me betther."

This cleverness angered the fairy-woman so she
set in to abuse and to frighten Darby. She bally-
ragged, she browbate, she trajooced, she threatened,
but 'twas no use. The bould man hildt firm, till at
last she promised him the favours of the three wishes.

" First an' foremost," says he, " I'll want her
never to put her spell on me or any of my kith an'
kin."

" That wish she gives you, that wish she grants
you, though it'll go sore agin the grain," snarled
Sheelah.

" Then," says Darby, " my second wish is that the
black spell be taken from Eileen McCarthy."

Sheelah flusthered about like an angry bin.
" Wouldn't something else do as well.? " she says.

" I'm not here to argify," says Darby, swingin'
back an' forrud on his toes.

[236]

THE

" Bad scran to you," says Sheelah. " I'll have to
go an' ask the banshee herself about that. Don't stir
from that spot till I come back."

You may believe it or not, but with that sayin' she
bent the head of her crutch well forward, an' before
Darby's very face she trew — savin' your presence —
one leg over the stick as though it had been a horse,
an' while one might say Jack Robinson the crutch
riz into the air an' lifted her, an' she went sailing
out of sight.

Darby was still gaping an' gawpin' at the dark-
ness where she disappeared whin — whisk! she was
back agin an' dismountin' at his side.

" The luck is with you," says she, spiteful. " That
wish I give, that wish I grant you. You'll find seven
crossed rushes undher McCarthy's door-step; uncross
them, put them in fire or in wather, an' the spell is
lifted. Be quick with the third wish — out with it ! "

" I'm in a more particular hurry about that than
you are," says Darby. " You must find me my brier
pipe," says he.

" You omadhaun," sneered the fairy-woman, " 'tis
sthuck in the band of your hat, where you put it when
you left your own house the night. No, no, not in
[ 237 ]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

front," she says, as Darby put up his hand to feel.
" It's stuck in the back. Your caubeen's twishted,"
she says.

Whilst Darby was standing with the comb in one
hand an' the pipe in the other, smiling daylighted,
the comb was snatched from his fingers and he got
a welt in the side of the head from the crutch. Look-
ing up, he saw Sheelah tunty feet in the air, headed
for Chartres' mill, an' she cacklin' an' screechin' with
laughter. Rubbing his sore head an' mutthering un-
pious words to himself. Darby started for the new
bridge.

In less than no time afther, he had found the seven
crossed rushes undher McCarthy's door-step, an' had
flung them into the stream. Thin, without knock-
ing, he pushed open McCarthy's door an' tiptoed
quietly in.

Cormac was kneelin' beside the bed with his face
buried in the pillows, as he was when Darby first saw
him that night. But Eileen was sleeping as sound
as a child, with a sweet smile on her lips. Heavy
pursperation beaded her forehead, showing that the
faver was broke.

Without disturbing aither of them our hayro
[ 238 ]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

picked up the package of tay from the floor, put it
on the dhresser, an' with a glad heart sthole out of
the house an' closed the door softly behind him.

Turning toward Chartres' mill he lifted his hat
an' bowed low. " Thank you kindly, Misthress Ban-
shee," he says. " 'Tis well for us all I found your
comb this night. Public or private, I'll always say
this for you — you're a woman of your worrud," he
says.

[ 239 J

CHAPTER III

For a little while afther Darby O'Gill sint the
banshee back her comb, there was the duckens to pay
in that townland. Aich night came stormier than
the other. An' the rain — never, since Noey the
Phoenaycian histed sail for Arrayat was there prom-
ised such a daynudherin' flood. (In one way or an-
other we're all, even the Germin min an' the Fardowns,
dayscendints of the Phoenaycians. )

Even at that the foul weather was the laste of
the throuble — the counthry-side was ha'nted. Every
ghost must have left Croaghmah as soon as twilight
to wander abroad in the lonesome places. The farm-
yards and even the village itself was not safe.

One morning, just before cock-crow, big Joey
Hooligan, the smith, woke up sudden, with a turrible
feeling that some gashly person was lookin' in at
him through the windy. Startin' up flurried in bed,
what did he see but two eyes that were like burnin'
coals of fire, an' they peerin' study into the room,
r 240 ]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

One glance was enough. Givin' a thraymendous
gasp, Joey dhropped back quakin' into the bed, an'
covered his head with the bed-clothes. How long
afther that the two heegous eyes kept starin' at the
bed Joey can't rightly tell, for he never uncovered
his head nor stirred hand nor foot agin till his wife
Nancy had lighted the fire an' biled the stirabout.

Indade, it was a good month afther that before
Joey found courage enough to get up first in the
morning so as to light the fire. An' on that same
mimorable mornin' he an' Nancy lay in bed argyfin'
about it till nearly noon — the poor man was that
frightened.

The avenin' afther Hooligan was wisited Mrs.
Norah Clancy was in the stable milking her cow —
Cornaylia be name — whin sudden she spied a tall,
sthrange man in a topcoat standin' near the stable
door an' he with his back turned toward her. At
first she thought it a shadow, but it a-ppeared a thrifle
thicker than a shadow, so, a little afeared, she called
out : " God save you kindly, sir ! "

At that the shadow turned a dim, grey face toward
her, so full of rayproachful woe that Mrs. Clancy let
a screech out of her an' tumbled over with the pail of
[241]

THE banshee's COMB

milk betwixt her knees. She lay on her back in the
spilt milk unconscionable for full fufteen minutes.

The next night a very rayliable tinker, named
Bothered Bill Donahue, while wandherin' near Char-
tres' ruined mill, came quite accidental upon tunty
skillingtons, an' they colloguing an' confabbing to-
gether on the flat roof of the mill-shed.

But worst of all, an' something that sthruck deeper
terror into every heart, was the news that six different
persons at six different places had met with the tur-
rible phantom coach, the Costa Bower.

Peggy Collins, a wandherin' beggar woman from
the west counthry, had a wild chase for it; an' if
she'd been a second later raichin' the chapel steps an'
laying her hand on the church-door it would have had
her sure.

Things got on so that afther dark people only
wentured out in couples or in crowds, an' in pint
of piety that parish was growin' into an example an'
patthron for the naytion.

But of all the persons whom thim con-ditions com-
plicayted you may be sure that the worst harried
an' implicayted was the knowledgeable man, Darby
O'GiU.

THE BANSHEE S COMB

There was a weight on his mind, but he couldn't
tell why, an' a dhread in his heart that had no ray-
sonable foundaytion. He moped an' he moothered.
Some of the time he felt like singin' doleful ballads
an' death keens, an' the rest of the time he could
hardly keep from cryin'. His appetite left him, but
what confuged him worse than all the rest was the
fondness that had come over him for hard worruk —
cuttin' turf an' diggin' petaties, an' things like that.

To make matters more onsociable, his friend, Brian
Connors, the King of the Fairies, hadn't showed a nose
inside Darby's door for more than a fortnit; so the
knowledgeable man had no one to adwise with.

In thim dismal sarcumstances Darby, growin' dus-
perate, harnessed the pony Clayopathra one morning
and dhrove up to Clonmel to see the Masther Doctor
— ^the raynowned McNamara. Be this you may know
how bad he felt, for no one, till he was almost at the
pint of dissolation, ever wint to that crass, brow-
batin' ould codger.

So, loath enough was our own hayro to face him,
an' hard-hearted enough was the welcome the crabbed
little docthor hilt out to Darby whin they met.

" What did you ate for breakwus ? " the physician
[243]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

says, peerin' savage from undher his great eyebrows
at Darby's tongue.

" Only a bowl of stirabout, an' a couple of petaties,
an' a bit of bacon, an' a few eggs." He was countin'
on his fingers, " an' — an' somethin' or other I forgot.
Do you think I'll go into a daycline. Doctor, agra .'' "

" Hump ! ugh ! ugh ! " was all the comfort the
sick man got from the blinkin' ould blaggard. But
turnin' imaget to his medicine-table the surgent be-
gan study in' the medicines. There was so much of
it ferninst him he might have give a gallon an'
never missed it. There was one foine big red bottle
in particular Darby had his eye on, an' thought his
dose 'ud surely come out of that. But NcNamara
turns to a box the size of your hat, an' it filled to the
top with little white, flat pills. Well, the stingy ould
rascal counts out three and, handing them to Darby,
says : " Take one before breakwus, another before din-
ner, an' the last one before suppher, an' give me four
silver shillings, an' that'll cure ye," he says.

You may be sure that Darby biled up inside with

madness at the onraysonableness of the price of the

pills, but, houlding himself in, he says, very cool an*

quite : " Will you write me out a rayceipt for the

[ 244 ]

THE

money, Doctor McNamara, if you plaze? " he says.
An', whilst the ould chayter was turned to the writ-
ing, be the hokey if our hayro didn't half fill his
pockets with pills from the box. By manes of them,
as he dhrove along home, he was able to do a power
of good to the neighbour people he met with on the
road.

Whin you once get in the habit of it there's no
pleasure in life which ayquils givin' other people
medicine. .

Darby ginerously med ould Peggy O'Callaghan
take six of the little round things. He gave a swally
to half-witted Red Durgan, an' a good mouthful to
poor sick Eileen McCarthy (only she had to gulp
them whole, poor thing, an' couldn't ate them as the
others did — ^but maybe 'twas just as good). An' he
gave a fistful aich to Judy Rafferty an' Dennis
Hogan ; an' he stood handsome thrate to a sthranger,
who, the minute he got the taste well intil his mouth,
wanted to fight Darby. Howsumever, the two only
called aich other hard names for a while, then Darby
joggled along, doin' good an' growin' lighter-
hearted an' merrier-minded at every sthop he med.
'Twas this way with him till, just in front of Mrs.
[245]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

Kilcannon's, who should he see, scratching himself
agin the wall, but Solomon, an' the baste lookin' bit-
ther daynunciation out of the corner of his eye.
Darby turned his head, ashamed to look the mis-
thrayted donkey in the face. An' worse still nor that,
just bey ant Solomon, laning agin the same wall, was
Bothered Bill Donahue, the deef tinker. That last
sight dashed Darby entirely, for he knew as well as
if he had been tould that the tinker was layin' in wait
to ride home with him for a night's lodging.

It wasn't that Darby objected on his own account
to takin' him home, for a tinker or a beggar-man,
mind you, has a right, the worruld over, to claim a
night's lodgin' an' a bit to ate wherever he goes;
an' well, these honest people pay for it in the gos-
sip an' news they furnish at the fireside an' in the
good rayport of your family they'll spread through
the counthry aftherwards.

Darby liked well to have them come, but through
some unknown wakeness in her char-ack-ther Bridget
hated the sight of them. Worst of all, she hated
Bothered Bill. She even went so far as to say that
Bill was not half so bothered as he purtendid — that
he could hear well enough what was a-greeable for

THE BANSHEE S COMB

him to hear, an' that he was deef only to what he
didn't Hke to listen to.

Well, anyhow there was the tinker in the road
waitin' for the cart to come up, an' for a while what
to do Darby didn't well know.

He couldn't ray fuse one who axed food to ate or
shelther for a wandherer's four bones during the
night (that would be a sin, besides it would bring
bad luck upon the house), an' still he had a mor-
tial dislike to go agin Bridget in this purtick'ler —
she'd surely blame him for bringin' Bothered Bill
home.

But at length an' at last he daycided, with a sigh,
to put the whole case before Bill an' then let him
come or stay.

Whilst he was meditaytin' on some way of convey-
in' the news that'd be complaymintary to the tinker,
an' that'd elevayte instid of smashing that thrav-
eller's sinsitiveness. Bill came up to the cart.

" The top iv the day to you, dacint man," he says.
" 'Tis gettin' toward dark an' I'll go home with ye
for the night, I'm thinkin'," says he. The tinker,
like most people who are hard of hearin', roared as
though the listener was bothered.
[247]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

Darby laid down the lines an' hilt out a handful
of the little medicines.

" There's nothin' the matther with me, so why
should I ate thim? " cried Bill.

" They're the best thing in the worruld for that,"
says Darby, forcing them into Bill's mouth. " You
don't know whin you'll nade thim," he says, shoutin'.
" It's betther meet sickness half-way," says he, " than
to wait till it finds you."

And thin, whilst Bill, with an open hand aginst
his ear, was chawin' the pills an' lookin' up plaintiff
into Darby's face, the knowledgeable man wint on in
a blandishin' way to pint out the sitiwation.

" You see, 'tis this away, WuUum," he says. " It's
only too daylighted I'd be to take you home with me.
Indade, Bridget herself has wondherful admiraytion
for you in an ord'nary way," says he. " She believes
you're a raymarkable man intirely," he says, day-
plomatic, " only she thinks you're not clane," says he.

The tinker must have misundherstood altogether,
for he bawled, in rayply, " Wisha good luck to her,"
he says, " an' ain't I glad to have so foine opinion
from so foine a woman," says he. " But sure, all the
women notice how tidy I am, an' that's why they like
[248]

S COMB

to have me in the house. But we best be movin'," says
he, coolly dhropping his bags of tools intil the cart,
" for the night's at hand, an' a black an' stormy one
it'll be," says Bill.

He put a foot onto the wheel of the cart. As he
did so Darby, growin' very red in the face, pressed a
shilling into the tinker's hand. " Go into Mrs. Kil-
cannon's for the night, Wullum," he says, " an' come
to us for your breakwus, an' your dinner an' maybe
your supper, me good fellow," says he.

But the deef man only pocketed the shillin' an'
clambered up onto the sate beside Darby. " Faith,
the shillin's welcome," he sa^ s ; " but I'd go to such a
commodious house as yours any time, Darby O'Gill,
without a fardin's pay," says he, pattin' Darby
kindly on the back. But Darby's jaw was hangin'
for the loss of the shillin' right on top of the unwel-
come wisitor.

" We'd betther hurry on," says the tinker, light-
ing his pipe ; " for af ther sundown who knows what'U
catch up with us on the road," says he.

Sure, there was nothing for it but to make the best
of a bad bargain, an' the two went on together,
Darby gloomy an' vexed an' the deef man solomn but
[249]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

comfortable till they were almost at McHale's bridge.
Then the tinker spoke up.

" Did ye hear the black threats Sheelah Maguire
is makin' agin you? " he says.

" No," says Darby ; " what in the worruld ails
her.'' " says he.

" Bless the one of me knows," says the tinker, " nor
anybody else for that matther. Only that last
Halloween night Sheelah Maguire was bate black an'
blue from head to foot, an' she lays the raysponsibility
on you, Darby," he says.

The knowledgeable man had his mouth open for a
question whin who should go runnin' acrost the road
in front of them but Neddy McHale himself, an' his
arrum full of sticks. " Go back ! go back ! " cries
Neddy, wavin' an arrum wild. " The bridge's but-
ther-worruks are washed out be the flood an' McDon-
ald's bridge is down, too, so yez must go around be
the mill," says Neddy.

Now here was bitther news for ye! 'Twas two
miles out of the way to go be Chartres' mill, an' do
the best possible they'd be passing that ha'nted place
in the pitch dark.

" Faith, an' I've had worse luck than in pickin*
[250]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

you up this night, Bothered Bill Donahue," says
Darby, " for it's loath I'd be to go alone "

He turned to speak just in time, for the tinker
had gathered up his bag an' had put his right foot
on the cart-wheel, purparin' for a jump. Darby
clutched the lad be the back of his neck an' joulted
him back hard into the sate.

" Sit still, Wullum, till we raich me own house,
avourneen," he says, sarcastic, " for if ye thry that
move agin I'll not lave a whole bone in your body.
I'll never let it be said," he says, lofty, " that I turned
one who axed me for a night's lodgin' from me door,"
he says. An' as he spoke he wheeled the cart quick
around in the road.

" Lave me down, Misther O'Gill ! I think I'll stop
the night with Neddy McHale," says Wullum, shiv-
erin'. " Bridget don't think I'm clane," says he, as
the pony started off.

"Who tould ye that, I'd like to know.?" shouted
Darb}^ growin' fierce ; " who dared say that of ye ?
You're bothered, Wullum, you know, an' so you mis-
thrupit langwidge," he says.

But Bill only cowered down sulky, an' the pony
galloped down the side lane intil the woods, strivin'
£251]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

to bate the rain an' the darkness. But the elements
were too swift-footed, an' the rain came down an' all
the shadows met together, an' the dusk whirled quick
intil blackness before they raiched the gloomy hill.

Ever and always Chartres' mill was a misfortunit
place. It broke the heart of an' runed and kilt the
man who built it ; an' itself was a rune these last tunty
years.

Many was the wild tale known throughout the
counthry-side of the things that had been seen an'
heard at that same mill, but the tale that kept Darby
an' the tinker unwelcome company as the pony throt-
ted along was what had happened there a couple of
years before. One night, as Paddy Carroll was dhriv-
in' past the gloomy ould place, his best ear cocked an'
his weather eye open for ghosts, there came sudden
from the mill three agonised shrieks for help.

Thinkin' 'twas the spirits that were in it Paddy
whipped up his pony an' hurried on his way. But
the next morning, misdoubtin' whether 'twasn't a hu-
man woice, afther all, he had heard, Paddy gathered
up a dozen of the neighbours an' went back to in-
westigate. What did they find in one of the upper
rooms but a peddler, lying flat on the floor, his pack
[252]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

ramsacked an' he dead as a door-nail. 'Twas his cries
Paddy had heard as the poor thraveller was bein'
murdhered.

Since that time a dozen people passing the mill at
night had heard the cries of the same peddler, an'
had seen the place blazin' with lights. So, that now
no one who could help it ever alone passed the mill
afther dark.

At the hill this side of that place the pony slowed
down to a walk; nayther coaxin' nor batin' 'd injooce
the baste to mend his steps. The horse'd stop a little
an' wait, an' thin it'd go on thrimblin'.

They could all see the dim outlines of the empty
mill glowerin' up at them, an' the nearer they came
the more it glowered, an' the faster their two hearts
bate. Half-way down the hill an ould sign-post
pinted the way with its broken arm; just bey ant that
the bridge, an' afther that the long, level road an' —
salwaytion.

But at the sign-post Clayopathra sthopped dead
still, starin' into some bushes just beyant. She was
shakin' an' snortin' and her limbs thrimblin'.

At the same time, to tell the truth, she was no worse
off than the two Christians sittin' in the cart behint
[253]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

her, only they were not so daymonsthray-ta-tive about
it. Small blame to the lads at that, for they were
both sure an' sartin that lurking in the black shadows
was a thing waiting to freeze their hearts with terror,
an' maybe to put a mark on thim that they'd carry to
their graves.

Af ther coaxing Clayopathra an' raysonin' with her
in wain. Darby, his knees knocking, turned to the
tinker, an' in the excitement of the events forgettin'
that Bill was deef , whuspered, as cool an' as aisy-like
as he could :

" Would ye mind doin' me the favour of steppin'
out, avick, an' seein' what's in that road ahead of us,
WuUum?"

But Bothered Bill answered back at once, just as
cool an' aisy:

" I would mind. Darby," he says ; " an' I wouldn't
get down, asthore, to save you an' your family an' all
their laneyal daysindents from the gallus-rope," says
he.

" I thought you was deef," says Darby, growin'
disrayspectful.

" This is no time for explay nations," says Wullum.
" An' I thought meself ," he wint on, turning his
[ 254 ]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

chowlder on Darby, " that I was in company with a
brave man ; but I'm sorry to find that I'm riding with
no betther than an' outrageous coward," says he, bit-
ther.

Whilst Wullum was sayin' them wexatious worruds
Darby stood laning out of the cart with a hand on
Clayopathra's back an' a foot on the shaft, gogghng
his eyes an' sthrivin' to pierce the darkness at the
pony's head. Without turnin' round he med answer :

" Is that the way it is with you, Wullum? " he
says, still sarcastic. " Faix, thin ye'll have that com-
plaint no longer, for if yez don't climb down this
minute I'll trow you bag an' baggage in the ditch,"
he says ; " so get out immaget, darlint, or I'll trow you
out," says he.

The worruds weren't well out of his mOuth whin
the owdacious tinker whipped out his scissors an' sint
the sharp pint half an inch into Clayopathra's flank.
Clayopathra jumped, an' Darby, legs an' arrums fly-
ing, took a back sommerset that he never ayquiled in
his supplest days, for it landed him flat agin the
hedge; an' the leap Clayopathra gave, if she could
only keep it up'd fit her for the Curragli races.
An' keep it up for a surprisin' while she did, at any
[256]

THE

rate, for as the knowledgeable man scrambled to his
feet he could hear her furious gallop a hundhred
yards down the road.

" Stop her, WuUum avourneen, I was only jok-
ing ! Come back, ye shameless rogue of the univarse,
or I'll have ye thransported ! " he shouted, rushing a
few steps afther them. But the lash of the whip on
Clayopathra's sides was the only answer Wullum sint
back to him.

To purshue was useless, so the daysarted man
slacked down to a throt. I'd hate bad to have befall
me any one of the hundhred things Darby wished
aloud then an' there for Wullum.

Well, at all events, there was Darby, his head bint,
plodding along through the storm, an' a fiercer storm
than the wind or rain ever med kept ragin' in his
heart.

Only that through the storm in his mind there
flared now an' thin quivers of fear an' turpitation
that sometimes hastened his steps an' thin again
falthered thim. Howsumever, taking it all in all, he
was making good pro-gress, an' had got to the bunch
of willows at the near side of the mill whin one par-
ticular raymembrance of Sheelah Maguire and of the
[256]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

banshee's comb halted the lad in the middle of the
road an' sint him f umblin' with narvous hands in his
weskit pocket. There, sure enough, was the piece of
the banshee's comb. The broken bit had lain forgot-
ten in the lad's pocket since Halloween; an' now, as
he felt it there next his thumping heart an' buried
undher pipefuls of tobaccy, the rayalisation almost
floored him with consthernaytion. All rushed over his
sowl like a flood.

Who else could it be but the banshee that guv
Sheelah Maguire that turrible batin' mintioned by the
tinker? An' what was that bating for, unless the
banshee a-ccused Sheelah of stealing the ind of the
comb? An', mother of Moses! 'Twas sarchin' for
that same bit of comb it was that brought the ghosts
up from Croaghmah an' med the whole townland
ha'nted.

Was ever such a dangerous purdicament! Here
he was, with ghosts in the threes above him an' in
the hedges, an' maybe lookin' over his cho wider, an'
all of them sarchin' for the bit of enchanted comb
that was in his own pocket. If they should find out
where it lay what awful things they would do to him.
Sure, they might call up the Costa Bower an' fling
[ 267 ]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

him into it, an' that 'ud be the last ever heard of
Darby O'Gill in the land of the livin'.

With thim wild thoughts jumpin' up an' down in
his mind he stood in the dark an' in the rain, gawmin'
vacant over toward the shadowy ruin. An' he bein'
much agitayted, the lad, without thinkin', did the
foolishest thing a man in his sitiwaytion could well
a-complish — he took out of his pocket the enchanted
sliver of goold an' hildt it to his two eyes for a look.

The consequences came suddin', for as he stuck it
back into the tobaccy there burst from the darkness
of the willows the hallowest, most blood-curdlin' laugh
that ever fell on mortial ears. " Ho ! ho ! ho ! " it
laughed.

The knowledgeable man's hair lifted the hat from
his head.

An' as if the laugh wasn't enough to scatther the
wits of anyone, at the same instant it sounded, an'
quick as a flash, every windy in the ould mill blazed
with a fierce blue light. Every batthered crack an'
crevice seemed bursting with the glare for maybe the
space of ten seconds, an' then, oh, Millia Murther!
there broke from the upper floor three of the bitter-
est shrieks of pain an' terror ever heard in this
[258]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

worruld; an', with the last cry, the mill quinched
itself into darkness agin an' stood lonely an' gloomy
an' silent as before. The rain patthered down on the
road an' the wind swished mournful in the threes, but
there was no other sound.

The knowledgeable man turned to creep away very
soft an' quiet ; but as he did a monsthrous black thing
that looked like a dog without a head crawled slowly
out from the willows where the turrible laugh had
come from, an' it crept into the gloom of the oppo-
site hedge an' there it stood, waitin' for Darby to
dhraw near.

But the knowledgeable man gave a leap backwards,
an' as he did from the darkness just behindt him
swelled a deep sigh that was almost a groan. From
the hedge to his right came another sigh, only deeper
than the first, and from the blackness on his left rose
another moan, an' then a groaning, moaning chorus
rose all round him, an' lost itself in the wailing of
the wind. He was surrounded — the ghosts had cap-
tured Darby.

The lad never rayalised before that minute what a
precious thing is daylight. If there would only come
a flash of lightening to show him the faces of the
[259]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

surrounding spirrits, horrible though they might be,
he'd bid it welcome. But though the rain drizzled
an' the tunder rumpled, not a flare lit up the sky.

One swift, dusperate hope at the last minute saved
the boy from sheer dispair; an' that same hope was
that maybe some of the Good People might be flyin'
about an' would hear him. Liftin' up his face to the
sky an' crying out to the passin' wind, he says :

" Boys," he says, agonised, " lads," says he, " if
there be any of yez to listen," he cried, " I'll take it
as a great favour an' I'll thank ye kindly to tell King
Brian Connors that his friend an' comerade. Darby
O'Gill, is in deep throuble and wants to see him
imaget," says he.

" Ho ! ho ! ho ! " laughed the turrible thing in the
hedge.

In spite of the laugh he was almost sure that off
in the distance a cry answered him.

To make sure he called again, but this time, though
he sthrained his ears till their drums ached, he caught
no ray ply.

And now, out of the murkiness in the road ahead
of him, something began to grow slowly into a tall,
slender, white figure. Motionless it stood, tightly
[ 260 ]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

wrapped in a winding sheet. In its presence a new
an' awful fear pressed down the heart of Darby. He
felt, too, that another shade had taken its place be-
hindt him, an' he didn't want to look, an' sthrove
against lookin', but something forced the lad to turn
his head. There, sure enough, not foive feet away,
stood still an' silent the tall, dark figure of a man in
a topcoat.

Thin came from every direction low, hissing whus-
pers that the lad couldn't undherstand. Somethin'
turrible would happen in a minute — he knew that
well.

There's just so much fear in every man, just ex-
actly as there is a certain amount of courage, an' whin
the fear is all spilt a man aither fights or dies. So
Darby had always said.

He raymembered there was a gap in the hedge
nearly opposite the clump of willows, so he med up
his mind that, come what might, he'd make a gran'
charge for it, an' so into the upland meadow beyant.
He waited an instant to get some strength back intil
his knees, an' then he gave a spring. But that one
spring was all he med — in that direction, at laste.

For, as he neared the ditch, a dozen white, ghostly
[261]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

hands raiched out eager for him. With a gasp he
whirled in his thracks an' rushed mad to the willows
opposite, but there a hundhred gashly fingers were
stretched out to meet the poor lad; an' as he stag-
gered back into the middle of the road agin, the hayro
couldn't, to save his sowl, keep back a long cry of ter-
ror and disthress.

Imaget, from undher the willows and from the
ditch near the hedge an' in the air above his head,
from countless dead lips aychoed that triumphing,
onairthly laugh. Ho! ho! ho!

'Twas then Darby just nearly guve up for lost.
He felt his eyes growing dim an' his limbs numb.
There was no air comin' into his lungs, for whin he
thried to breathe he only gaped, so that he knew the
black spell was on him, an' that all that was left for
him to do was to sink down in the road an' thin to
die.

But at that minute there floated from a great way
off the faint cry of a woice the dispairing man knew
well.

" Keep up your heart. Darby O'Gill," cried Brian
Connors ; " we're coming to resky you," an' from over
the fields a wild cheer f ollyed thim worruds.
[262]

COMB

" Faugh-a-balla — clear the way ! " sprang the
shrill war-cry of a thousand of the Good People.

At the first sound of the King's worruds there rose
about Darby the mighty flurrying an' rushing of
wings in the darkness, as if thraymendous birds were
rising sudden an' flying away, an' the air emptied
itself of a smothering heaviness.

So fast came the King's fairy army that the great
cheer was still aychoing among the threes when the
goold crown of Brian Connors sparkled up from be-
side the knowledgeable man's knees. At that the par-
secuted man, sobbin' with joy, knelt down in the
muddy road to shake hands with his friend, the mas-
ther of the Good People.

Brian Connors was not alone, for there crowded
about Darby, sympathisin' with him, little Phelim
Beg, an' Nial the fiddler, an' Shaun Rhue the smith,
an' Phadrig Oge. Also every instant, flitthering out
of the sky into the road, came be the score green-
cloaked and red-hooded men, foUying the King an'
ready for throuble.

" If ever a man needed a dhrop of good whusky,
you're the hayro, an' this is the time an' place for
it," says the King, handin' up a silver-topped noggin.
[263]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

" Dhrink it all," he says, " an' then we'll escorch ye
home. Come on," says he.

The masther of the night-time turned an' shouted
to his subjects. " Boys," he cried, " we'll go wisible,
the betther for company sake. An' do you make the
'luminaytion so Darby can see yez with him ! "

At that the lovely rosy light which, as you may
raymember, our hayro first saw in the fairy's home
at Sleive-na-mon, lighted up the roadway, an' undher
the leafy arches, bobbin' along like a ridgement of
sojers, all in their green cloaks an' red caps, marched
at laste a thousand of the Little People, with Phadrig
Oge at their head actin' as gineral.

As they passed the mill foive dayfiant pipers med
the batthered ould windys rattle with " Garry Owen."

[264]

CHAPTER IV

THE COSTA BOWEE
I

So the green-dhressed little army, all in the sweet,
rosy light they made, wint marchin', to the merry
music of the pipes, over the tree-bowered roadway,
past the ha'nted brakes up the shivering hills, an'
down into the waiting dales, making the grim night
maylodious.

For a long space not a worrud, good, bad, or in-
different, said Darby.

But a sparrow woke her dhrowsy childher to look
at the beautiful purcession, an' a robin called excited
to her sleepy neighbours, the linnets an' the rabbits
an' the hares, an' hundhreds like them crowded day-
lighted through the bushes, an' stood peerin' through
the glistening leaves as their well-known champyions
wint by. A dozen wentursome young owls flew from
bough to bough, follying along, crackin' good-nat-
ured but friendly jokes at their friends, the fairies.
Thin other birds came flying from miles around, twit-
thering jubilaytion.

[265]

THE banshee's COMB

But the stern- jawed, frowny-eyed Little People for
once answered back never a worrud, but marched stiff
an' silent, as sojers should. You'd swear 'twas the
Enniskillins or 'twas the Eighteenth Hussars that
'twas in it.

" Isn't that Gineral Julius Sayser at the head ? "
says one brown owl, flapping an owdacious wing at
Phadrig Oge.

" No ! " cries his brother, another young villian.
" 'Tis only the Jook of Willington. But look at the
bothered face on Darby O'Gill! Musha, are the
Good People goin' to hang Darby.'* "

And faix, thin, sure enough, there was mighty lit-
tle elaytion on the faytures of our hayro. For, as
he came marchin' along, silent an' moody, beside the
King, what to do with the banshee's comb was both-
erin' the heart out of him. If he had only trun it to
the ghosts whin he was there at the mill! But that
turrible laugh had crunched all sense an' rayson out
of him, so that he forgot to do that very wise thing.
Ochone, now the ghosts knew he had it ; so, to trow it
away'd do no good, onless they'd find it afther. One
thing was sartin — he must some way get it back to
the banshee, or else be ha'nted all the rest of his days.
[866]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

He was sore-hearted, too, at the King, an' a bit
crass-timpered bekase the little man had stayed away
so long frum wisitin' with him.

But at last the knowledgeable man found his
tongue. " Be me faix. King," he complained, " 'tis
a cure for sore eyes to see ye. I might have been
dead an' buried an' you none the wiser," says he,
sulky.

" Sure, I've been out of the counthry a fortnit,"
says the King. " And I've only rayturned within the
hour," he says. " I wint on a suddin call to purvent
a turrible war betwixt the Frinch fairies and the
German fairies. I've been for two weeks on an island
in the River Ryan, betwixt France an' Germany. The
river is called afther an Irishman be the name of
Ryan."

" At laste ye might have sint me wurrud," says
Darby.

" I didn't think I'd be so long gone," says the
fairy ; " but the disputaytion was thraymendous," he
says.

The little man dhrew himself up dignayfied an'
scowled solemn up at Darby. " They left it for me
to daycide," he says, " an' this was the contintion :
[267]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

" Fuftj years ago a swan belongin' to the Frinch
fairies laid a settin' of eggs on that same island, an'
thin comes along a German swan, an' what does the
impident craythure do but set herself down on the
eggs laid be the Frinch swan an' hatched thim.
Afther the hatchin' the German min claimed the
young ones, but the Frinchmen pray-imp-thurribly
daymanded thim back, d'ye mind. An' the German
min dayfied thim, d'ye see. So, of course, the trouble
started. For fufty years it has been growin',
an' before fightin', as a last ray sort, they sint for
me.

" Well, I saw at once that at the bottom of all was
the ould, ould question, which has been disthurbin'
the worruld an' dhrivin' people crazy for three thou-
sand years."

" I know," says Darby, scornful, " 'tv,^as whither
the hin that laid the egg or the hin that hatched the
egg is the mother of the young chicken."

" An' nothin' else but that ! " cried the King, sur-
prised. "Now, what d'ye think I daycided.'* " he
says.

Now, yer honour, I'll always blame Darby for not
listening to the King's daycision, bekase 'tis a matther
[268]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

I've studied meself considherable, an' never could
rightly con-elude ; but Darby at the time was so both-
ered that he only said, in rayply to the King :

" Sure, it's little I know, an' sorra little I care," he
says, sulky. " I've something more important than
bin's eggs throubling me mind, an' maybe ye can
help me," he says, anxious.

" Arrah, out with it, man," says the King. " We'll
find a way, avourneen," he says, cheerful.

With that Darby up an' toult everything that had
happened Halloween night an' since, an', indeed, be
sayin' : " Now, here's that broken piece of comb in me
pocket, an' what to do with it I don't know. Will ye
take it to the banshee. King.'' " he says.

The King turned grave as a goat. " I wouldn't
touch that thing in yer pocket, good friends as we
are, to save yer life — not for a hundhred pounds. It
might give them power over me. Yours is the only
mortial hand that ever touched the banshee's comb,
an' yours is the hand that should raystore it."

" Oh, my, look at that, now," says Darby, in de-
spair, nodding his head very solemn.

" Besides," says the King, without noticin' him,
" there's only one ghost in Croaghmah I 'ssociate
[269]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

with — an' that's Shaun. They are mostly onculta-
vayted, an' I almost said raydundant. Although I'd
hate to call anyone raydundant onless I had to," says
the just-minded ould man.

" I'll trow it here in the road an' let some of them
find it," says Darby, dusperate. " I'll take the
chanst," says he.

The King was shocked, an', trowing up a warnin'
hand, he says:

" Be no manner of manes," the fairy says, " you
forget that thim ghosts were once min an' women
like yerself , so whin goold's consarned they're not to
be thrusted. If one should find the comb he mightn't
give it to the banshee at all — he might turn 'bezzler
an' 'buzzle it. No, no, you must give it to herself
pursnal, or else you an' Bridget an' the childher'U
be ha'nted all yer days. An' there's no time to lose,
ayther," says he.

" But Bridget an' the childher's waitin' for me this
minute," wailed Darby. " An' the pony, what's be-
come of her? An' me supper?" he cried.

A little lad who was marchin' just ahead turned an'
spoke up.

" The pony's tied in the stable, an' Bothered Bill
[270]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

has gone sneakin' off to McCloskey's," the little man
says. " I saw thim as I flew past."

" Phadrig ! " shouted the King. " Donnell ! Conn !
Nial! Phelim!" he called.

With that the little min named rose from the ranks,
their cloaks spread, an' come flyin' back like big green
buttherflies, an' they sthopped huvering in the air
above Darby an' the King.

" What's wanted.? " axed Phelim.

" Does any of yez know where the banshee's due at
this hour ? " the King rayplied.

" She's due in County Roscommon at Castle
O'Flinn, if I don't misraymimber," spoke up the lit-
tle fiddler. " But I'm thinking that since Halloween
she ain't worrukin' much, an' purhaps she won't lave
Croaghmah."

" Well, has any one of yez seen Shaun the night,
I dunno ? " axed the master.

" Sorra one of me knows," says Phadrig. " Nor
I," " Nor I," " Nor I," cried one afther the other.

" Well, find where the banshee's stayin'," says
King Brian. " An' some of yez, exceptin' Phadrig,
go look for Shaun, an' tell him I want to see him
purtic'lar," says the King.

[271]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

The f oive huvering little lads wanished like a candle
that's blown out.

" As for you, Phadrig," wint on the masther fairy,
" tell the ridgiment they're to guard this townland
the night, an' keep the ghosts out of it. Begin at
once ! " he commanded.

The worruds wern't well said till the whole ridgi-
ment had blown itself out, an' agin the night closed in
as black as yer hat. But as it did Darby caught a
glimpse from afar of the goolden light of his own
Open door, an' he thought he could see on the thrashol
the shadow of Bridget, with one of the childher cling-
ing to her skirt, an' herself watchin' with a hand shad-
ing her eyes.

" Do you go home to yer supper, me poor man,"
says the King, " an' meantime I'll engage Shaun to
guide us to the banshee. He's a great comerade of
hers, an' he'll paycificate her if anyone can."

The idee of becomin' acquainted pursonal with the
ghosts, an' in a friendly, pleasant way have dal-
ings with them, was a new sinsation to Darby.
" What'U I do now.? " he axed.

" Go home to yer supper," says the King, " an'
meet me by the withered three at Conroy's crass-roads
[272]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

on the sthroke of twelve. There'll be little danger
to-night, I'm thinkin', but if ye should run against
one of thim spalpeens trow the bit of comb at him;
maybe he'll take it to the banshee an' maybe he won't.
At any rate, 'tis the best yez can do."

" Don't keep me waitin' on the crass-roads, what-
ever else happens," warned Darby.

" I'll do me best endayvour," says the King. " But
be sure to racognlse me whin I come; make no mis-
take, for ye'U have to spake first," he says.

They were walking along all this time, an' now
had come to Darby's own stile. The lad could see
the heads of the childher bunched up agin the windy-
pane. The King sthopped, an', laying a hand on
Darby's arrum, spoke up umpressive:

" If I come to the crass-roads as a cow with a rope
about me horns ye'll lade me," he says. " If I come
as a horse with a saddle on me back, yez'll ride me,"
says he. " But if I come as a pig with a rope tied
to me lift hind leg, ye'll dhrive me," says the King.

" Oh, my ! Oh, my ! Oh, tare an' ages ! " says
Darby.

" But," says the King, wavin' his hand aginst in-
thurruptions, " so that we'll know aich other we'll
[273]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

have a by-worrud bechuxt us. An' it'll be poethry,"
he says. " So that I'll know that 'tis you that's in
it ye'U say ' Cabbage an' bacon ' ; an' so that ye'll
know that 'tis me that's in it I'll answer, ' Will sthop
the heart achin'.' Cabbage an' bacon will sthop the
heart achin'," says the King, growin' unwisible.
" That's good, satisfyin' poethry," he says. But the
last worruds were sounded out of the empty air an'
a little way above, for the masther of the night-time
had wanished. At that Darby wint in to his supper.

I won't expaytiate to yer honour on how our hayro
spint the avenin' at home, an' how, afther Bridget
an' the childher were in bed, that a growin' daysire
to meet an' talk sociable with a ghost fought with
tunty black fears an' almost bate them. But whin-
ever his mind hesitayted, as it always did at the
thought of the Costa Bower, a finger poked into his
weskit pocket where the broken bit of comb lay hid,
turned the scale.

Howandever, at length an' at last, just before mid-
night our hayro, dhressed once more for the road,
wint splashin' an' ploddin' up the lane toward Con-
roy's crass-roads.

[ 274 ]

II

A man is never so brave as whin sittin' ferninst
his own comfortable fire, a hot supper asleep in his
chist, a steamin' noggin of flaygrant punch in his
fist, an' a well-thried pipe betwixt his teeth. At such
times he rumynates on the ould ancient hayroes, an'
he daycides they were no great shakes, afther all.
They had the chanst to show themselves, an' that's
the only difference betwixet himself an' themselves.
But whin he's flung sudden out of thim pleasant sur-
cumstances, as Darby was, to go chargin' around in
the darkness, hunting unknown an' unwisible dangers,
much of that courage oozes out of him.

An' so the sthrangest of all sthrange things was,
that this night, whin 'twas his fortune to be taken
up be the Costa Bower, that a dhread of that death-
coach was present in his mind from the minute he
shut the door on himself, an' it outweighed all other
fears.

In spite of the insurance that King Brian had
given, in spite of the knowledge that his friends, the
Good People, were flyin' hither an' thither over that
[275]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

townland, there crept into his sowl an' fastened itself
there the chanst that the headless dhriver might slip
past thim all an' gobble him up.

In wain he tould himself that there were a million
spots in Ireland where the death-carriage was more
likely to be than in his own path. But in spite of all
raysons, a dhreading, shiverin' feelin' was in his bones,
so that as he splashed along he was flinging anxious
looks behind or thremblin' at the black, wavering
shadows in front.

Howsumever, there was some comfort to know that
the weather was changin' for the betther. Strong
winds had swept the worst of the storm out over the
ocean, where it lingered slow, growlin' an' sputtherin'
lightening.

A few scatthered, frowning clouds, trowing ugly
looks at the moon, sulked behind.

" Lord love your shining face," says Darby, look-
ing up to where the full moon, big as the bottom of a
tub, shone bright an' clear over his head. " An' it's
I that hopes that the blaggard of a cloud I see
creeping over at you from Sleive-na-mon won't raich
you an' squinch your light before I meet up with
Brian Connors."

[276]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

The moon, in answer, brushed a cloud from her
face, and shed a clearer, fuller light, that made the
flooded fields an' dhropping threes quiver an' glisten.

On top of the little mound known as Conroy's Hill,
an' which is just this side of where the roads crass,
the friend of the fairies looked about over the lone-
some counthry-side.

Here and there gleamed a distant farm-house, a
still white speck in the moonlight. Only at Con Kel-
ley's, which was a good mile down the road, was a
friendly spark of light to be seen, an' that spark was
so dim and so far that it only pressed down the lone-
liness heavier on Darby's heart.

" Wisha," says Darby, " how much I'd druther be
there merry-makin' with the boys an' girls than stand-
in' here lonesome and cowld, waiting for the divil
knows what."

He sthrained his eyes for a sight of a horse, or a
cow, or a pig, or anything that might turn out to
be Brian Connors. The only thing that moved was
the huge dark cloud that stretched up from Sleive-
na-mon, and its heavy edge already touched the rim
of the moon.

He started down the hill.

r 277 ]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

The withered three at the cross-roads where he was
to meet the King waved its blackened arms and
lifted them up in warning as he came toward it, an'
it dhripped cowld tears upon his caubeen and down
his neck when he stood quaking in its shadows.

" If the headless coachman were to ketch me here,"
he whumpered, " and fling me into his carriage, not a
sowl on earth would ever know what became of me.

" I wish I wasn't so knowledgeable," he says, half
cry in'. " I wish I was as ignorant about ghosts an'
fairies as little Mrs. Bradigan, who laughs at them.
The more you know the more you need know. Musha,
there goes the moon."

And at them words the great blaggard cloud closed
in on the moon and left the worruld as black as yer
hat.

That wasn't the worst of it by no manner of manes,
for at the same instant there came a rush of wind, an'
with it a low, hollow rumble that froze the marrow in
Darby's bones. He sthrained his eyes toward the
sound, but it was so dark he couldn't see his hand be-
fore his face.

He thried to run, but his legs turned to blocks of
wood and dayfied him.

[278]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

All the time the rumble of the turrible coach dhrew
nearer an' nearer, an' he felt himself helpless as a
babe. He closed his eyes to shut out the horror of the
headless dhriver an' of the poor, dead men laning back
agin the sate.

At that last minute a swift hope that the King
might be within hearing lent him a flash of strength,
and he called out the by-word.

" Cabbage an' bacon ! " he cried out, dispairing.
" Cabbage an' bacon'll stop the heart achin' ! " he
roared, dismally, an' then he gave a great gasp, for
there was a splash in the road f erninst the three, an' a
thraymendous black coach, with four goint horses an'
a coachman on the box, stood still as death before
him.

The dhriver wore a brown greatcoat, the lines
hung limp in his fingers, an' Darby's heart sthopped
palpitaytin' at the sight of the two broad, headless
chowlders.

The knowledgeable man sthrove to cry out agin,
but he could only croak like a raven.

" Cabbage an' bacon'll stop the heart achin'," he
says.

Something moved inside the coach. " Foolish
[279]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

man," a woice cried, " you've not only guv the by-
word, but at the same time you've shouted out its
answer ! "

At the woice of the King — for 'twas the King who
spoke — a great wakeness came over Darby, an' he
laned limp agin the three.

"Suppose," the King went on, "that it was an
inemy you'd met up with instead of a friend. Tare
an' 'ounds ! he'd have our saycret and maybe he'd put
the comeither on ye. Shaun," he says, up to the
dhriver, " this is the human bean we're to take with
us down to Croaghmah to meet the banshee."

From a place down on the sate on the far side of
the dhriver a deep, slow woice, that sounded as though
it had fur on it, spoke up :

" I'm glad to substantiate any sarvice that will in
any way con juice to the amaylyro-ra-tion of any
friend of the raynounded King Brian Connors, even
though that friend be only a human bean. I was a
humble human bean meself three or four hundhred
years ago."

At that statement Darby out of politeness thried
to look surprised.

" You must be a jook or an earl, or some other rich
[280]

THE BANSHEE S CO^IB

pillosopher, to have the most raynouned fairy in
the worruld take such a shine to you," wint on the
head.

" Haven't ye seen enough to make yerself like
him ? " cried the King, raising half his body through
the open windy. " Didn't ye mark how ca'm an'
bould he stood waitin' for ye, whin any other man in
Ireland would be this time have wore his legs to the
knees runnin' from ye? Where is the pillosopher ex-
cept Darby O'Gill who would have guessed that 'twas
meself that was in the coach, an' would have flung me
the by-worrud so careless and handy? " cried the
King, his face blazing with admy ration.

The worruds put pride into the heart of our hayro>
an' pride the worruld over is the twin sisther of cour-
age. And then, too, whilst the King was talkin' that
deep, obsthreperous cloud which had covered the sky
slipped off the edge of the moon an' hurried to jine
its fellows, who were waiting for it out over the ocean.
And the moon, to make a-minds for its late obscuray-
tion, showered down sudden a flood of such cheerful,
silver light that the drooping, separate leaves and the
glistening blades of grass lept up clane an' laughin*
to the eye. Some of that cheer wint into Darby's
[281]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

breast, an' with it crept back fresh his ould confidence
in his champyion, the King.

But the headless dhriver was talking. " O'Gill,"
says the slow woice agin, " did I hear ye say O'Gill,
Brian Connors.? Surely not one of the O'Gills of
BalHnthubber.? "

Darby answered rayluctant an' haughty, for he
had a feeling that the monsther was goin' to claim
relaytionship, an' the idee put a bad taste in his
mouth. " All me father's people came from Ballin-
thubber," he says.

" Come this or come that," says the deep woice,
thremblin' with excitement, " I'll have one look at ye."
No sooner said than done; for with that sayin' the
coachman thwisted, an' picking up an extra'onary
big head from the sate beside him, hilt it up in his
two hands an' faced it to the road. 'Twas the face of
a goint. The lad marked that its wiry red whuskers
grew close undher its eyes, an' the flaming hair of the
head curled an' rowled down to where the chowlders
should have been. An' he saw, too, that the nose was
wide an' that the eyes were little. An uglier face you
couldn't wish to obsarve.

But as he looked, the boy saw the great lips tighten
[ 282 ]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

an' grow wide; the eyelids half closed, an' the head
gave a hoarse sob; the tears thrickled down its nose.
The head was cryin'.

First Darby grew oncomfortable, then he felt in-
sulted to be cried at that way be a total sthranger.
An' as the tears rowled faster an' faster, an' the sobs
came louder an' louder, an' the ugly eyes kep' leer-
ing at him affectionate, he grew hot with indignay-
tion.

Seeing which, the head spoke up, snivelling:

" Plaze don't get pugnaycious nor yet disputay-
tious," it begged, betwixt sobs. " 'Tisn't yer face
that hurts me an' makes me cry. I've seen worse — ^a
great dale worse — many's the time. But 'tis the
amazin' fam'ly raysimblance that's pathrifying me
heart."

The dhriver lifted the tail of his coat an' wiped the
head's two weepin' eyes. " 'Twas in Ballinthubber I
was born an' in Ballinthubber I was rared; an' it's
there I came to me misfortune through love of a
purty, fair maid named Margit Ellen O'Gill. There
was a song about it," he says.

" I've heerd it many an' many the time," says the
King, noddin', sympathisin', " though not for the last
[283]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

hundhred years or so." Darby glared, scornful, at
the King.

" Vo! Vo! Vo! " wailed the head, " but you're like
her. If it wasn't for yer bunchy red hair, an' for the
big brown wen that was on her forehead, ye'd be as
like as two pase."

" Arrah," says Darby, brustlin', " I'm ashamed to
see a man of yer sinse an' station," he says, " an' high
dictation "

" Lave off ! " broke in the King, pulling Darby be
the sleeve. " Come inside ! Whatever else you do,
rayspect the sintimintalities — there all we have to live
for, ghost or mortial," says he.

So, grumbling. Darby took a place within the
coach beside his friend. He filled his poipe, an' was
borrying a bit of fire from that of the King, whin
looking up he saw just back of the dhriver's seat, and
opening into the carriage, a square hole of about the
hoight an' the width of yer two hands. An' set agin
the hole, starin' affectionate down at him, was the
head, an' it smiling langwidging.

" Be this an' be that," Darby growled low to the
King, " if he don't take his face out of that windy,
ghost or no ghost, I'll take a poke at him ! "
[284]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

" Be no manner of manes," says the King, anxious.
" What'd we do without him ? We'll be at Croagh-
mah in a few minutes, then he needn't bother ye."

" Why don't ye dhrive on ? " says Darby, lookin'
up surly at the head. " Why don't ye start.? "

" We're goin' these last three minutes," smiled
Shaun ; " we're comin' up to Kilmartin churchyard
now."

" Have you passed Tom Grogan's public-house ? "
axed the King, starting up, anxious.

" I have, but I can turn back agin," says the face,
lighting up, intherested.

" They keep the best whusky there in this part of
Ireland," says the King. " Would ye mind steppin'
in an' bringing us out a sup. Darby agra.? "

Misthress Tom Grogan was a tall, irritated woman,
with sharp corners all over her, an' a timper that was
like an east wind. She was standing at her own door,
argyin' with Garge McGibney an' Wullum Broderick,
an' daling them out harrud names, whilst her hus-
band, Tom, a mild little man, stood within laning on
the bar, smoking saydately. Garge an' Wullum were
argying back at Misthress Grogan, tellin' her what
a foine-looking, rayspectable woman she was, an'
[285]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

couldn't they have one dhrop more before going home,
whin they saw coming sliding along through the air
toward them, about four feet above the ground, a
daycint-dhressed man, sitting comfortable, his poipe
in his mouth an' one leg crossed over the other. The
sthranger stopped in the air not foive feet away, and
in the moonlight they saw him plain knock the ashes
from his poipe an' stick it in the rim of his caubeen.

They ketched hould of aich other, gasping as he
stepped down out of the air to the ground, an' wishin'
them the top of the avening, he brushed past, walked
bould to the bar an' briskly called for three jorums of
whusky. Tom, obliverous — for he hadn't seen —
handed out the dhrinks, an' the sthranger, natural as
you plaze, imptied one, wiped his mouth with the back
of his hand an' started for the door, carrying the two
other jorums.

Tom, of course, foUyed out to see who was in the
road, and then he clutched hould of the three others,
an' the four, grippin' aich other like lobsters bilin'
in the pot, clung, spacheless, swaging back an' forth.

An' sure 'twas no wonder, for they saw the sthrange
man lift the two cups into the naked air, an' they saw
plain the two jorums lave his hands, tip themselves
[286]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

slowly over until the bottoms were uppermost — not
one dhrop of the liquor spillin' to the ground. They
saw no more, for they aich gave a different kind of
roar whin Darby turned to bring back the empty ves-
sels. The next second Tom Grogan was flying like
a hunted rabbit over the muddy petatie-field behind
his own stable, whilst Wullum Broderick an' Garge
McGibney were dashin' furious afther him like Skib-
berberg hounds. But Mrs. Grogan didn't run away,
bekase she was on her own thrashol', lying on the flat
of her back, and for the first time in her life spache-

Howandever, with a rumble an' a roar, the coach
with its thravellers wint on its way.

The good liquor supplied all which that last sight
lacked that was needful to put our three hayroes in
good humour with thimselves an' with aich other, so
that it wasn't long before their throubles, bein' forgot,
they were convarsing sociable an' fumiliar, one with
the other.

Darby, to improve his informaytion, was sthriving
to make the best of the sitiwation be axin' knowledge-
able questions. " What kind of disposition has the
banshee, I dunno.'^ " he says, afther a time.
[ 287 ]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

" A foine creachure, an' very rayfined, only a bit
too fond of crying an' wailing," says Shaun.

" Musha, I know several livin' women that cap
fits," says the knowledgeable man. " Sure, does she
do nothin' but wail death keens? Has she no good
love-ballads or songs like that? I'd think she'd grow
tired," he says.

"Arrah, don't be talkin'!" says Shaun. " 'Tis
she who can sing them. She has one in purticular —
the ballad of ' Mary McGinnis ' — that I wisht ye could
hear her at," he says.

" The song has three splendid chunes to it, an' the
chune changes at aich varse. I wisht I had it all, but
I'll sing yez what I have," he says. With that the
head began to sing, an' a foine, deep singin' woice
it had, too, only maybe a little too roarin' for love-
ballads :

" Come all ye thrue lovers^ whoe'er yez may he.
Likewise ye decayvers be land or be sea ;
I hope that ye'll listen with pity to me
Since the Jew^l of ms life is a thraitor.*^

" Here's where the chune changes," says the head,
lickin' his lips.

[288]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

•• On goin" to church last Sunday me thrus love passed me 6y,
/ knew her mind was changed he the ttoinklin' of her eye ;
I knew her mind was changed, which caused me for to moan,
*Tis a terrible black misfortin to think she cowld has grovm.''

" That's what I call rale poethry," says Darby.

" There's no f oiner," says the King, standing up on
the sate, his face beaming.

" The next varse'U make yez cry salt tears," says
Shaun. An' he sang very aff ectin' :

•* OA, dig me a grave both large^ wide^ an' deep^
ArC lay me down gently ^ to take me long sleep ;
Put a stone at me head arC a stone at me feet.
Since 1 cannot get Mary McGinnis,""

" Faith, 'tis a foine, pittiful song," says Dar-
by, " an' I'd give a great dale if I only had it,"
says he.

" Musha, who knows ; maybe ye can get it," says
the ould King, with a wink. " Ye may daymand the
favours of the three wishes for bringing her what yer
bringin'," he whuspered. " Shaun ! " he says, out
loud, " do ye think the banshee'U give that song for
the bringing back of the lost comb, I dunno? "

" I dunno meself," says the head, jubious,
[289]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

" Bekase if she would, here's the man who has the
comb, an' he's bringin' it back to her."

The head gave a start and its eyes bulged with
gladness.

" Then it's the lucky man I am entirely," he says.
" For she promised to stick me head on and to let me
wear it purmanent, if I'd only bring tidings of the
comb," says Shaun. " She's been in a bad way since
she lost it. You know the crachure can sing only
whin she's combing her hair. Since the comb's broke
her woice is cracked scand'lous, an' she's bitther
ashamed, so she is. But here's Croaghmah right be-
fore us. Will yez go in an' take a dhrop of some-
thing.'^ " says he.

Sticking out his head. Darby saw towering up in
the night's gloom bleak Croaghmah, the mountain of
the ghosts; and, as he thought of the thousands of
shivering things inside, an' of the onpleasant feelings
they'd given him at Chartres' mill a few hours be-
fore, a doubt came into his mind as to whether it were
best to trust himself inside. He might never come
out.

Howandever, the King spoke up sayin', " Thank
ye kindly, Shaun, but ye know well that yerself an'
[290]

THE

one or two others are the only ghosts I 'ssociate with,
so we'll just step out, an' do you go in yerself an'
tell the banshee we're waitin'. Ray turn with her,
Shaun, for ye must take Darby back."

With that the two hayroes dayscinded from the
coach, an' glad enough was Darby to put his brogues
safe an' sound on the road agin.

All at once the side of the mountain ferninst them
opened with a great crash, an' Shaun, with the coach
an' horses, disaypeared in a rush, an' were swolleyd
up be the mountain, which closed afther thim. Darby
was blinkin' an' shiverin' beside the King, when sud-
den, an' without a sound, the banshee stood before
them.

She was all in white, an' her yallow hair sthrealed
to the ground. The weight an' sorrow of ages were
on her pale face.

"Is that you, Brian Connors.?" she says. "An'
is that one with you the man who grabbled me? "

" Your most obadient," says the King, bowin' low ;
" it was a accident," says he.

" Well, accident or no accident," she says, savare,
" 'tis the foine lot of throuble he's caused me, an' 'tis
the illigant lot of throuble he'd a had this night if
[291]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

you hadn't saved him," she says. The banshee spoke
in a hollow woice, which once in a while'd break into
a squeak.

" Let bygones be bygones, ma'am, if you plaze,"
says Darby, " an' I've brought back yer comb, an' by
your lave I ax the favour of three wishes," says he.

Some way or other he wasn't so afeared now that
the King was near, an' besides one square, cool look
at any kind of throuble — even if 'tis a ghost — ^takes
half the dhread from it.

" I have only two favours to grant any mortial
man," says she, " an' here they are." With that she
handed Darby two small black stones with things
carved on thim.

" The first stone'll make you onwisible if you rub
the front of it, an' 'twill make you wisible again if
you rub the back of it. Put the other stone in yer
mouth an' ye can mount an' ride the wind. So Shaun
needn't dhrive yez back," she says.

The King's face beamed with joy.

" Oh, be the hokey. Darby me lad," says he,
" think of the larks we'll have thravellin' nights to-
gether over Ireland ground, an' maybe we'll go across
the say," he says.

[292]

THE BANSHEE S COMB

" But fairies can't cross runnin' water," says
Darby, wondherin'.

" That's all shuperstition," says the King.
" Didn't I cross the river Ryan ? But, ma'am," says
he, " you have a third favour, an' one I'm wishin' for
mightilly meself, an' that is, that ye'll taiche us the
ballad of ' Mary McGinnis.' "

The banshee blushed. " I have a cowld," says she.
" 'Tis the way with singers," says the King, winkin'
at Darby, " but we'll thank ye to do yer best, ma'am,"
says he.

Well, the banshee took out her comb, an' fastening
to it the broken ind, she passed it through her hair
a few times an' began the song.

At first her woice was purty wake an' thrimblin',
but the more she combed the sthronger it grew, till at
last it rose high and clear, and sweet and wild as
Darby'd heerd it that Halloween night up at Mc-
Carthy's.

The two hayroes stood in the shadow of a three.
Darby listening and the King busy writing down the
song. At the last worrud the place where she had
been standing flashed empty an' Darby never saw her
again.

r 293 1

THE BANSHEE S COMB

I wisht I had all the song to let your honour hear
it, an' maybe I'll learn it from Darby be the next time
ye come this way, an' I wisht I had time to tell your
honour how Darby, one day havin' made himself on-
wisible, lost the stone, and how Bothered Bill Donahue
found it, and how Bill, rubbin' it be accident, made
himself onwisible, an' of the turrible time Darby had
a-finding him.

But here's Kilcuny, an' there's the inn, an' — thank
ye! God bless yer honour!

THE END

[294]

s

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